


Betty Cooper and the Elixir of Life

by easyluckyfree45



Series: Riverdale Bingo Summer 2020 [10]
Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bickering, Crossover, Emotional Roller Coaster, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, Hogwarts Head Boys & Head Girls, Hogwarts Inter-House Rivalries, Humor, Idiots in Love, Investigative!Bughead, It's a love story baby just say yes, Love Confessions, Magic, Mystery, POV Alternating, Pining, Post-Canon, Potterdale - Freeform, Protective Jughead Jones, Quidditch, References to Canon, Romance, Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Slytherin!Betty, Smut, because i am very impatient, did i tag smut already?, gryffindor!jug, if i'm not too impatient
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 112,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27045808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easyluckyfree45/pseuds/easyluckyfree45
Summary: Neutrality was fine, desired even. But, Jughead Jones could never just be neutral towards Betty Cooper. Instead, he seemed to take pleasure in pushing her buttons, annoying her, and riling her up -- always deliberately.It’s infuriating. Also, they were both chosen this year as Head Boy and Head Girl, respectively. This means that they would be spending an inordinate amount of time together and they would be living together in the same area.It's Betty Cooper's final year and all she wants to do is concentrate on academics, be the best Head Girl she can, and get a job at the Department of Mysteries. Things are never quiet at Hogwarts though.Riverdale Bingo Summer 2020 - Hogwarts AU
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Series: Riverdale Bingo Summer 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847086
Comments: 721
Kudos: 387
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, Riverdale Bingo, Riverdale Bingo Summer 2020





	1. Expecto Patronum - Patronus

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Potter will always and forever be my one true love. I was very, very excited to get this square for Riverdale Bingo. This will be a good, old-fashioned love story with some mystery and investigating thrown in because Bughead, amirite? This fic will update weekly on Fridays!
> 
> Thank you, thank you to my darling Jana ([latenightcoffeetalks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightcoffeetalks/pseuds/latenightcoffeetalks)) for inspiring me to write this HP AU and beta-ing. You're wonderful, my dear.
> 
> Thanks Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for your endless excitement and support!! She made the gorgeous header below that I have spent an inordinate amount of time staring at.
> 
> Thanks Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for the gorgeous moodboard at the end. It perfectly captures this fic and I can't thank you enough for it. Thanks also for your endless patience with brainstorming HP ideas with me.

_I think I've been here before_  
_It doesn't matter_  
_Hurry back, I'm coming in for more_  
_I'm feeling like it's only the lonely who know who we are_  
_Yeah, it felt so right, just you and I_  
_Like this is something out of a dream_  
_You're just something like a memory_

_“Remember that Night” by Grouplove_

_**One: Expecto Patronum - Patronus** _

Is it strange to have a favorite day of the year? Probably.

Betty Cooper has always been a little strange, quirky, unusual -- whatever adjective suits best for the day -- and she’s made peace with it. She’s not the most popular girl in school, nor the most beautiful but what she is, is this: the most passionate and the most dedicated.

Her favorite day of the year is, undoubtedly, September 1st. The day the academic year officially begins and she is transported to Hogsmeade via the Hogwarts Express.

King’s Cross Station is packed with muggles today and as she winds through the crowds with her trolley, she’s careful not to accidentally run into anyone. Her black and white tuxedo cat, Voltaire, yawns for a moment before resting his chin back down on his crossed paws, not at all bothered by the hustle and bustle around them. Smiling, Betty nudges at the mesh covering of the carrier.

“We’re almost there, Vol,” she tells him.

His black ear twitches once, as if understanding.

The train is already crowded when she hops on, heading towards the luggage car. After dropping off her suitcases, she holds the cat carrier in front of her, her green eyes scanning left and right in search of her best friends. Finally, after traversing through three cars, she finds them in their own private carriage. Opening the door with a smile, Betty barely has time to set Voltaire’s carrier down on the seat cushion before her best friend, Veronica Lodge, launches herself into her arms.

“Bettykins! I’ve missed you,” she coos. “How was your summer?”

Betty hugs her tightly before she greets her other best friend, Kevin Keller, with a hug. They’re all still dressed in muggle clothing, not yet changed into their school robes. Opening the carrier, Betty lets Voltaire out, petting his head gently before they each share their summer stories.

“It was pretty boring, honestly,” Betty tells them. “My mother is still trying to convince me to work for the Prophet after graduation. I don’t know how many ways I can keep saying no. I’ve tried them all.”

Kevin raises an eyebrow at this. “I feel that. We all know how much my dad has been harassing me to enter the Auror training program after this year. I have no desire for crime-fighting. Seems so uncouth.”

Veronica laughs lightly. “Much too uncouth for your delicate sensibilities, I agree.”

“You know I’d much rather teach. Now, Music is a much more fascinating subject,” he says, continuing to enlighten his friends about the new music theory book that he discovered over the summer.

Veronica scooches closer to Betty. Voltaire, who is currently curled up in Betty’s lap, raises his head for a moment, eyeing Veronica suspiciously. She gives him a smile and a pat to the head. This seems to satisfy him and she’s allowed to come a bit closer.

“Betty, have you talked to your parents about how you’re not interested in following their footsteps?” she asks.

Kevin pauses in his monologue for a moment, also turning to face her, his expression curious.

“I’ve tried but you know how my mother can be,” she replies with a sigh. “Since Polly has already decided to ‘disappoint’ them by pursuing Divination instead of journalism, the burden of responsibility is now on me.” She makes air quotes with her hands.

“It’s your life, B. You’ve wanted to work for the Department of Mysteries since I met you in first-year. You should be able to pursue what you want.”

“Thanks, V,” Betty responds, giving her best friend a small smile. “I know and I will. I just need to convince them of that.”

The conversation moves onto lighter topics, thanks to Kevin who very willingly provides a distraction from the uncomfortable discussion. They chat a bit about the new Fall line of robes from Madame Malkin’s. Betty lets herself fade into the background as Veronica and Kevin excitedly debate if the midi or maxi cut is more flattering.

The scenery is stunning. Betty loses herself in the different colors: green, blue, grey, and brown, all fading into one another as the train whooshes by the countryside. The tracks circle a lake. The water is still today, almost perfectly mirroring the darkened cloud-covered sky above it. Her gaze focuses on the singular piece of land, a tiny island in the middle of the lake. There’s one towering tree that juts up from the dirt, proudly declaring its presence, unwilling to let the water suffocate it.

It’s unyielding -- defiantly flourishing in a treacherous place.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

As they near the end of their journey, Betty ducks into the bathroom to change into her robes, proudly affixing the Head Girl badge to her chest. She’s worked so hard for the position so when her letter arrived from Headmistress McGonagall this summer announcing the news, she couldn’t contain her squeals and excited laughter.

Brushing a stray strand of blonde hair out of her face, she exits the bathroom only to run directly into a very hard and wide chest. Her hands come up to the body for a moment, her fingers gripping the clothed flesh as she steadies herself and recovers from the impact.

“I’m so sorry.” The words die on her tongue when she looks up and realizes who it is.

Jughead Jones. Gryffindor Keeper. Pureblood. Head Boy. Heir to the Jones fortune (read: throne) belonging to one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the entire country.

Betty clears her throat, immediately averting her gaze. “Apologies,” she mutters before she starts to walk away.

He uses his body to block her path and she silently curses his quick reflexes and large form. At 6’1”, he towers over her, several inches above her height.

“Let me pass,” she says flatly. The sooner she removes herself from this interaction, the sooner she can get back to her friends and embark on a successful start to her final academic year.

“I don’t even get a proper greeting, Polaris?” he asks, the smirk evident in his tone.

She rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh. Again with the Polaris thing -- he’s been calling her this for years now and she has no idea why. Astronomy has never been her strong suit; she prefers Transfiguration or Potions to it.

She doesn’t even remember when it first started. They went from not talking at all to each other for their first three years, to being paired up in 4th year in Herbology and vaguely tolerating one another, to 5th year where they were forced together for a number of reasons. The first, both being named prefects for their individual houses and constantly being paired up together for rounds and the second, the pairing up resulting in looking into and then solving Jason Blossom’s murder case.

After that, they seemed to have reached some sort of mutual forbearance. Neutrality was fine, desired even. But, Jughead Jones could never just be neutral towards Betty Cooper. Instead, he seemed to take pleasure in pushing her buttons, annoying her, and riling her up -- always deliberately.

It’s infuriating. Also, they were both chosen this year as Head Boy and Head Girl, respectively. This means that they would be spending an inordinate amount of time together and they would be living together in the same area.

It’s as if Salazar Slytherin himself was punishing her for some reason. Actually, scratch that -- this is all Godric Gryffindor’s doing. He seemed like he was the petty type.

“Good afternoon, Jughead,” she says shortly. “Happy?” She tilts her head to the side and looks up at him. His expression is unreadable, storminess brewing behind his sky blue eyes.

He doesn’t respond for a few moments and it makes her nervous. Uncertainty starts to creep up her spine and she shifts her weight between her feet, debating if she should just push him aside and make a run for it. That would be over-dramatic though so instead, she holds her ground, staring up into his eyes, silent and waiting for a response, unwilling to back down.

He takes a step in her direction, his body is so close to hers that she can feel the heat emanating from his chest. His breath is hot against her cheek and suddenly, it’s like all the air has been sucked from the enclosed space like a vacuum. She should back away from him, do something. Something other than just standing there as if frozen in place.

He’s so close that she can smell the scent of his cologne and aftershave combined with hints of freshly cut grass and parchment. It’s a heady mixture and sends tingles down her body.

“Thrilled, as always,” he purrs out.

His words exit from his lips into the air, surrounding her body, curling around her like a vise. It tightens around her and she shivers unconsciously.

“I should go,” she says quietly, barely a whisper, her voice hoarse. It sounds foreign to her own ears. Why was he affecting her like this? She's in Slytherin for Merlin’s sake -- calm and collected are two defining characteristics for her House.

Inhaling deeply, she centers herself. She takes a step back and holds out her hand to his chest, palm flattening against it, her fingertips barely brushing against his robes but still effectively stopping him from following her.

“Then go,” he tells her, his tone seemingly impassive.

For the first time in her life, she listens to his instructions without arguing. Turning on her heel, she starts to move away without another word.

“Lovely seeing you,” he calls out to her retreating form.

His words are laced with sarcasm but for the briefest of moments, she wonders if he means it.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Betty doesn’t tell Veronica or Kevin about her little run-in with Jughead. That would involve a line of questioning that she’s not willing to subject herself to at the present moment. She keeps it to herself and only when she’s finally safely hidden away in her own private room, does she exhale and let herself dwell on it.

She flops back onto her plush 4-poster bed that’s draped with the lushest green and silver fabrics. Closing her eyes, blonde hair fanning across the silver pillowcase, she lets her mind recall the way Jughead’s hot breath felt against her skin. He was so close to her and it felt as if he was touching her, caressing every inch of her face but in reality, he hadn’t laid a single finger on her. Why was it that she could feel the burn of his touch scorching her skin?

Green eyes snapping open, she sits up on the bed and halts her own thoughts. This is foolish. She and Jughead will be working together, very closely, and having fantasies about him is not the best course of action.

But she can’t help but think about how alluring it might be -- the idea of kissing Jughead Jones.

No, no, no. She needs to stop. Their respective houses -- Slytherin and Gryffindor -- have always been at odds. Even when Hogwarts was first founded, Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin despised each other. Every single student sorted into their Houses knew about the rivalry and bad blood. It’s been two decades since Harry Potter defeated Voldemort but Hogwarts, an institution rooted in tradition, was slow to change. There’s still an unspoken competitiveness between the two Houses, even if they’ve all moved past prejudices involving blood purity and muggles. After all, she is a proud half-blood sorted into a House that likely wouldn’t have welcomed her a few decades ago.

She’s a proud Slytherin, through and through.

There has only been one famed successful Slytherin-Gryffindor interhouse relationship in recent memory and Merlin knows that Betty Cooper has neither the tenacity nor the patience of Hermione Granger-Malfoy.

She’s also not so bold to assume that the simple attraction that she has towards him could ever blossom into a star-crossed lovers romance, like the stories written by muggle playwrights.

That would be a fairytale, indeed. He is not Romeo. She is not Juliet.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000

_I’m late. I’m late. For a very important date!_

Internally, Betty sings this to herself as she rushes through the Hogwarts corridors, breezing past Professors and students alike, with one destination in mind: the Headmistress’ office. She doesn’t make a habit of being late. In fact, she’s known for her punctuality but in her haze of thinking-slash-not thinking about Jughead Jones yesterday, she forgot to set an alarm -- something she’s never done before. Clearly, the universe is plotting against her, and thought that the perfect time for her to make this mistake was right before her first important meeting of the year.

Relief floods through her when she finally approaches the office. She skids to a stop in front of the ugly gargoyle.

“Tortoiseshell,” she calls out to the stone figure. The staircase complies, ascending her into the office. While Headmaster Dumbledore preferred passwords inspired by candy, Headmistress McGonagall decided on different types of cats.

Readjusting her robes and flattening her hair, she flies out of the moving staircase and strides into the office quickly.

“My apologies, Headmistress-” she starts to say but McGonagall immediately quiets her, waving off her prepared excuses.

“Don’t make a habit of it, Ms. Cooper,” McGonagall tells her.

Betty lets out a disappointed sigh and sits down on the only vacant chair in the room, across the desk from the headmistress and right next to Jughead Jones, who apparently decided to be on time to this meeting, unlike her. She wilts into the seat, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.

“Nice of you to join us, Polaris,” Jughead says, the smirk ever-present on his face.

Briefly, Betty wonders if she’s ever seen him without it. She quickly dismisses those thoughts as the headmistress launches into a monologue of everything that’s expected of them this year. The responsibilities are nothing new. Betty had read the letter and attached list of expected tasks quite thoroughly this summer before she accepted the position.

Betty listens attentively, nodding along at all the right moments. It’s only when the next words come out of Headmistress McGonagall’s mouth does she shift in her seat, shocked and surprised.

“A ball?” Betty asks. “But I don’t understand. Since when does Hogwarts host a welcome back ball?”

“Since this year,” the Headmistress responds, pursing her lips together. “The Board of Governors decided it would be a good way to encourage inter-house camaraderie. They’ve even gone so far to secure a performing act for the event. Some American musical group, I believe. The Snitches? Something of that sort.”

“The Bent-Winged Snitches?” Betty asks.

“Yes, that’s it,” McGonagall responds, snapping her fingers together. “I will leave it up to you two to make all the necessary arrangements for the event. I’m sure it will be unparalleled.”

They continue to discuss the details for a few more minutes with Betty asking the majority of the questions whereas Jughead is uncharacteristically quiet. It seems unusual that he doesn’t have an opinion to contribute.

“And of course, you two will be expected to attend together as Head Boy and Head Girl,” McGonagall declares as if she didn’t just drop a giant bombshell onto their laps.

“I’m sorry, Headmistress, but is that really necessary? After all, I’m sure Mr. Jones has plenty of eligible witches lined up who would be happy to attend this event with him,” Betty interjects, trying to plead her case. She blinks at the Headmistress, like signaling with Morse Code with every flutter of her eyelids.

“The entire purpose of this ball is to encourage inter-house affinity, Ms. Cooper. As Head Boy and Head Girl, you belong to two Houses that have a notorious rivalry; one that’s been in existence for thousands of years. Attending together is of utmost importance. It would be an example of how even the deepest divides can be overcome.”

Betty sighs and looks down, peeking at Jughead through her lashes to decipher his reaction. His expression is unreadable though she can still see a glimmer of victory behind his blue eyes.

Why would he be victorious? It’s such a strange response. Anger, frustration, annoyance -- this, she can understand. But not victory.

She nods at them both, the most that her pride is willing to acquiesce for the moment but regardless, it still serves as a non-verbal agreement to what’s been laid out. Betty Cooper will attend the Fall Ball with Jughead Jones -- albeit, reluctantly.

The Headmistress launches into the next point on her agenda. Jughead comments every so often but Betty remains quiet as she ponders the reasoning behind his response. It’s as if he wants to attend the ball with her. But that would be ridiculous.

After all, this is the same man that had been unabashedly tormenting and teasing her for the last few years. There’s no way that he actually wants to do this. He’s being forced into this as much as she is.

“Ms. Cooper.”

Betty’s head snaps up and she clears her throat uncomfortably.

“Thank you for re-joining us,” McGonagall says, the frown still ever-present on her face. “I believe that’s the last point I wanted to discuss with you both. Ms. Cooper, could you please stay behind? I have a matter to discuss with you,” the Headmistress requests before she turns her attention to Jughead. “Mr. Jones, you are dismissed.”

“Thank you, Headmistress. Until next time. See you at dinner, Ms. Cooper,” Jughead says with a tip on his head before he turns on his heel and retreats towards the staircase.

When they’re alone, Betty turns back towards McGonagall, ready to launch into another apology for being late and for being caught not paying attention.

“It is my understanding that you intend to apply for the position at the Department of Mysteries this upcoming year.”

This is not what Betty expects at all. It takes her a millisecond to recover before she plasters a smile onto her face.

“Yes, it is. I’m taking all the necessary classes and have received O’s on all subjects pertinent to the role,” Betty says, straightening her spine in the chair.

“I’m so pleased to hear it, Ms. Cooper. I think you would make an excellent candidate and I’d be happy to throw my support behind your application.”

Betty flushes with pride and starts to thank her profusely. “Headmistress, that would be amazing. I can’t thank you enough-”

McGonagall nods perfunctorily and interrupts her. “However, as you know, there’s only one vacant position. I will, of course, be supporting you both in this endeavor as I communicated to him earlier.”

“Both?” Betty asks, confusion coloring her pretty, delicate face.

“You and Mr. Jones, of course.”

“Mr. Jones-” Betty starts to say until it dawns on her. “Jughead is applying for the position as well?” She tries to reign in the frustration that floods her body. She knows she needs to keep her cool, however, as she’s still in front of the head of her school. She can’t throw a temper tantrum like a child. She recovers. “I didn’t realize he was interested in being an Unspeakable.”

“It’s a highly coveted role, one that comes with great responsibility and prestige.”

Betty nods numbly and clears her throat again. “Thank you for letting me know. I am sure the person most deserving and qualified will be chosen for the role. May I be dismissed, Headmistress?”

“Of course.”

The words barely slip out of McGonagall’s mouth before Betty tumbles out of her office. Scrambling into an abandoned corridor, she leans her body against the stone wall and catches her breath, trying her best to process the information she just received.

Straightening, she grabs her wand and waves it with a flourish and bellows out, “ _Expecto Patronum_.”

A cat bursts from her wand, emerging from the silvery blue mist. “Find Kevin and Veronica and tell them to meet me by the Black Lake.”

The cat nods its head, purring, and flicks its tail out towards Betty, signaling that it understands the task at hand. Then it disappears.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

When Kevin and Veronica arrive at the shore of the Black Lake, Betty is lying on a large rock, feet kicked out in front of her as she moves her wand in a zig-zag motion. The red and yellow flowers she’s charmed dance in the direction of the wand, following its every movement.

Magic calms her. It helps clear the fog that’s built up in her brain and centers her.

She’ll always remember the day that she received her Hogwarts letter -- the pride and joy reflected in her mother’s eyes. It’s one of the few rare occurrences that Alice Cooper lavished her with affection and praise. She still remembers being gathered in her mother’s arms as she swayed her back and forth, brushing the blonde hair out of her face, whispering that she hopes she’ll be sorted into Slytherin, like her.

“I bring chocolate and sweets,” Veronica announces as she sits on the rock next to Betty, her silver and green tie billowing in the wind.

Kevin joins her on the other side. Betty ends the charm with a _Finite Incantatem_ and watches as the petals cascade through the air before dissipating.

“How was the meeting?” Kevin hedges, assuming that was the reason why he and Veronica were summoned.

“I’m not getting the position with the Department of Mysteries,” Betty says with a sigh as she sits back up. She gratefully accepts a chocolate frog that Veronica hands her. Unwrapping the box and foil, she bites into the frog harshly, preventing it from jumping away.

“What do you mean?” Veronica asks, brows furrowed in concern.

“Headmistress McGonagall informed me today that Jughead Jones is putting his hat in the ring for the position which means that eliminates any chance I would’ve had at it. You know, nepotism and all. Not to mention the Joneses are one of the most prominent and influential families in the entire country. If they deign to work, they will get whatever position they desire,” Betty explains, her tone flat and defeated. She finishes the chocolate in record speed and reaches for another.

“Betty, you are the most qualified student in this entire school. There’s no way they won’t pick you,” Veronica insists.

“Well, she has a point,” Kevin interjects, smoothing down his yellow and black robes. “After all, FP Jones is the head of the Department of Mysteries. If his son applies, he’s kind of a shoo-in.” His father, Tom Keller, is the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement so they likely work together frequently.

“See what I mean? Nepotism,” Betty mutters.

Veronica shakes her head furiously. “B, you can’t give up on your dream. You have been working tirelessly for this role ever since first-year. Jughead Jones cannot just waltz in here and steal it away from you. I refuse to let you give up.”

“I’m not giving up,” Betty corrects. “I’m merely accepting the truth of the matter which is, there is no way FP Jones will not hire his son over some random girl that he doesn’t even know.”

“Then make it impossible for him not to hire you,” Veronica says decisively. “Work harder, get better scores, perform better. If you are obviously the best hire, he has no choice but to pick you over Jughead.”

Nibbling on the chocolate, Betty considers this for a moment. “Do you really think that will work?” Her voice is cautious but has a hint of optimism.

“It will,” Veronica replies with a nod. “This has been your dream forever. You can’t give up. We won’t let you.”

Kevin puts a hand on Betty’s knee and squeezes tightly. “We can practice your defense spells together. I grew up training with Dad so I think I’m actually pretty good.”

“That’d be amazing, Kev, thank you,” Betty says gratefully. She’s quiet for a few moments before she speaks again. “I’m not going to let him win.”

“That’s my girl,” Veronica agrees.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

After her pep talk with Kevin and Veronica, Betty feels empowered. She will not go down without a fight. She knows she is the most qualified and the harder worker. She deserves this.

Pacing in front of an empty wall in the left corridor on the seventh floor, she knows if anybody sees her right now, they’d probably think she needed to be committed to St. Mungo’s. She walks back and forth in front of the space, three times to be exact, and focuses her thoughts: _I need a place where I can train my curses and hexes._

The wall moves, a patterned door appearing suddenly. With a smile, she opens the door to the Room of Requirement.

The room is one vast, empty space with all the accoutrements she needs for her training including dummies and padded mats. She pulls her hair up into her signature ponytail. Turning to her left, a closet emerges. She opens the doors and sees the training clothing that she was hoping for: mesh shirts, leggings, and sneakers -- all her size. She slips out of her robes and pulls the workout clothing on, briefly wondering if they would disappear off her body should she exit the room.

Once she’s fully dressed, she flicks her wand and one dummy separates itself from the others and floats to the middle of the room. She holds her wand out and clears her head of any distracting thoughts before yelling out, “ _Reducto_!”

A ray of blue light beams out from her wand and hits the dummy square in the chest, shrinking it down into ash.

She smiles to herself and moves another dummy to the center of the room, repeating the spell over and over again. She keeps casting curses and hexes, even when her feet scream out for relief, her face is covered with sweat, and her stomach begs for food.

But she doesn’t stop. She refuses to stop.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The next day marks the first day of classes. The start of term is always filled with a bustle of activity and this year, her final year, is no different. Betty has a full class schedule lined up this semester with only a handful of breaks built-in during the day. After Advanced Transfiguration, she bolts across the castle to her next class. With quick steps, she makes her way through the crowd. Passing through a small courtyard, she turns the corner and runs directly into a hard chest for the second time in two days.

“Oof, I’m so sorry,” she starts to apologize before she realizes, yet again, exactly who she runs into. “Jughead, I-” she stops herself because she doesn’t really want to apologize to him. Why is it that she keeps colliding into him?

“In a hurry, Polaris?” he asks.

Betty gestures vaguely to her right. “Alchemy class.”

“Well, what are the odds? I’m in that class as well.”

They start to walk in that direction for a few quiet moments before he interrupts the silence. “Perhaps we should meet afterwards to discuss pairing assignments for evening rounds. You have a free period, right?” he suggests.

She looks flummoxed for a moment, her mouth opening in a circle but no words coming out. Clearing her throat, she looks directly into his hazy blue eyes. “Yes, how do you know that?”

Jughead doesn’t answer her. Instead, his hand comes down to the small of her back as he leads her towards the right classroom. Heat sprawls through her lower stomach at his light and gentle touch. He’s so close to her right now and again, she smells the scent of freshly cut grass. Looking up, she sees his hair sticking out in random directions, probably from the wind. It’s rather endearing seeing him in this state -- it makes him seem more authentic and real.

“Were you just flying?” she asks.

He looks surprised at the question before he rearranges his face into an easy smile. “Yes, Quidditch practice.”

“You know, I'm sure our team will be quite strong this year. I think this is finally the year where Slytherin will defeat Gryffindor to win the Quidditch Cup,” she teases.

Where is this coming from? Since when does she tease Jughead Jones? He’s technically her rival at this point, since he’s vying for the same role as her. But it just comes out so effortlessly.

“Our trials are coming up and I have no doubt our team will be better than ever. Slytherin has only defeated Gryffindor twice and the last instance was several decades ago.”

“Mmm yes,” Betty murmurs. “But this year will be the year that we are victorious and defeat Gryffindor for a third time.”

“Since when do you like Quidditch?”

“Tastes can change,” she replies simply as she enters the classroom, snorting lightly at the dramatic gesture he makes as he waves his hand in a flourish when he holds the door open for her.

There’s only a handful of students in the class, around 8 people. Unlike most of her classes in the first few years at Hogwarts, all her current classes are mixed with students from all four Houses -- which is likely why Jughead Jones is in almost all her classes. Sitting down at a free table, she’s not surprised when Jughead slides into the empty stool next to her. He always sits next to her in class if the seat is available. She’s almost stopped noticing at this point.

Alchemy is a combination of Transfiguration, Potions, and the Muggle subject: Chemistry. Therefore, it’s all the more difficult. In order to qualify for this class, each student needed to earn an O in all three subjects in prior years.

Professor Leopold starts the lecture after everyone arrives and settles in. Betty scribbles down notes furiously, redipping her quill in the inkpot a few times. Jughead, per usual, is paying attention but he doesn’t write down a single word. She wonders if he has an eidetic memory; that would explain why he’s able to remember everything without writing it down.

When they move onto the next portion of class, Betty is slightly nervous. She’s always been better at the studying portion and less so the application portion. However, these subjects play to all her strengths so she is confident that she’ll excel at whatever Professor Leopold asks for.

“Cast a flame and then hold that flame so it doesn’t flicker. Fire is one of the harder elements to control and arguably, one of the most dangerous as well,” Leopold explains. She grabs her wand and holds it up in front of her. With a flick of her wrist, she says, “ _Incendio_ ,” and then points at the flame, holding it tightly with her gaze.

“Hold your wand firmly in the palm of your hand and use your index finger as your focal point. Don’t look directly into the flame. Look at your finger and concentrate,” she instructs before she finishes the spell and the flame dispels.

All around her, the students begin the exercise.

Holding her wand out, Betty flicks it once, calling out, “ _Incendio_.” The flame ignites and flames dance around furiously. Concentrating hard, she straightens out her pointer finger and stares intently at the nail, focusing all her energy. The flame stops flickering and remains straight, unmoving. After a few moments, Betty releases and murmurs, “ _Finite Incantatem_.”

Looking around, she sees that most students are trying but failing. Their flames either burn out immediately or in one student’s case, the flame explodes into a giant roaring fire. Professor Leopold rushes over to extinguish it.

When Betty finally moves her gaze over to Jughead, she sees that he’s still controlling his flame, his expression completely unaffected like the spell isn’t difficult at all -- like it doesn’t take all of his effort to control it. He moves it closer and closer towards her. She smiles at this, green eyes drawn to the allure of the flame. It dissipates into smoke.

“Impressive,” she says.

He flashes her the brightest smile and instantly, flutters erupt in her stomach.

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As class winds down and Professor Leopold dismisses the group, Betty massages her forefinger, trying her best to loosen the muscles in her right hand. Between the hours that she spent casting curses and hexes yesterday and the practice during class, her hand is sore, exhausted from all the effort. She follows Jughead towards the courtyard next to the Alchemy classroom. He sits beneath an English Elm tree on a large smooth rock. He pats the space next to him.

Betty transfigures a branch into a makeshift stool and sits down directly across from him. He shoots her an amused, fake exasperated look. Grabbing papers from the book bag, she throws the lists of prefects’ names into the air, lifting her wand so that it separates out all the individual pages, forming a grid in front of them.

“Shall we begin?” she asks.

They work together cooperatively for a while. Betty continues to massage her right hand unconsciously as she partners the prefects to their assignment day and time slot. She jolts out of her reverie when she feels a pair of rough and calloused hands cover hers.

“What are you doing?” she asks with wide eyes, proud of herself for not stuttering.

“Your hand is bothering you,” he replies simply, continuing to work while he massages her hand, not at all deterred.

He knows what he’s doing, certainly better than she does. Almost immediately, she feels the muscles in her hand start to loosen.

_How do you know how to do this?_

“Quidditch,” he answers her unspoken question before she even gets the chance to ask it. “I have to massage and loosen out the muscles in my hands fairly frequently.”

That makes sense. After all, having excellent reflexes and strong muscles is probably essential to being a good Keeper. People are saying that he’s the best Keeper Gryffindor’s had since Oliver Wood.

Betty tries to concentrate on the task she needs to complete instead of on the ways his touch feels against her skin -- like it’s lighting her on fire from within. He uses his knuckle to gently release all the tension that was built up in her palm. It’s a little uncomfortable but after he’s done, her hand feels infinitely better -- much looser and at ease.

“Thank you,” she murmurs after he’s done, retracting her arm.

Before he can respond, the belltower rings, signaling that another hour has passed, meaning they only have ten minutes left before the next class. She starts to gather her things and sorts the papers back to their original order before putting them back in her bag.

“We don’t have any prefects available for the Monday and Thursday evening slots,” Jughead says as he dusts an invisible piece of lint off his robes. He straightens his red and gold tie.

“Oh,” Betty says disappointedly. “I can try and rearrange the schedule later after I’m done with classes.”

“Or we can do it,” he suggests.

“What?” she asks, confused.

“We can do the rounds those days,” he replies as if it’s the most obvious thing. “You and I both have those evenings free.”

She debates if she wants to ask him just how exactly he knows her schedule so well but decides against it. There are only a few minutes left for her to get to her next class and doesn’t have the time to launch into another argument with him right now.

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Then it’s settled,” he says with a clap of his hands. “We can cover the rounds those evenings.”

She opens her mouth to retort but he’s already walking away from her, probably off to their next shared class. Something unfamiliar builds in the pit of her stomach.

Why does it feel like she just unwillingly agreed to something that could ruin them both?

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm late. I'm late for a very important date" - Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll


	2. Aqua Eructo - Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not going to lie, a key scene in this chapter was inspired by this awesome song by T.Swift. I'm not even sorry about it. Also! "Always" - giving you peak Severus Snape/Lily Potter vibes right here. One of my absolute favorite HP characters also makes an appearance. I obviously do not own Draco Malfoy even if I desperately want to. A girl can dream though, right? All credit goes to the original books, of course.
> 
> Thanks a million times to Jana ([latenightcoffeetalks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightcoffeetalks/pseuds/latenightcoffeetalks)) for beta-ing and also listening to my endless rambling about this chapter. I love you, babe!
> 
> A thousand thank you's to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for this AMAZING header. I mean, just look at it. IT'S SO PERFECT I WANT TO SCREAM. Let's be honest, I'm already screaming. Thank you, thank you so much dear!!!

__

_I was a flight risk, with a fear of falling_  
_Wondering why we bother with love, if it never lasts_  
_Do you remember, we were sitting, there by the water?_  
_You put your arm around me for the first time_  
_You are the best thing, that's ever been mine_

_“Mine” by Taylor Swift_

_**Two: Aqua Eructo - Water** _

Dining in the Great Hall is always a surreal event. Floating candlesticks, constantly replenished pumpkin juice, and a bountiful feast awaits the students at every single meal. Like most days, Betty is the first person to arrive in the dining area, books spread out as she studies. It’s during this time that she sees what happens behind the scenes -- what’s involved in making the magic happen.

House-elves pop in left and right, snapping their fingers to make platters of carefully arranged breakfast delights appear on the tables. With another snap, utensils, plates, and napkins materialize. When Betty arrived this early the first time, all those years ago, she had startled the house-elves who were running around setting everything up.

Now, they’re used to her.

Wolly, a house elf with long lashes and a bright smile, sets a steaming cup of coffee in front of Betty along with some toast and scrambled eggs.

“Your breakfast, Miss,” Wolly says with a curtsy, lifting her pink apron up by the ends. The color matches perfectly with the bow on her ear, one that Betty gifted to her in third-year.

“Thank you, Wolly. This is amazing,” Betty says with a smile, excitedly grabbing the cup of coffee and sipping it.

Wolly bows and backs away before she returns to the rest of her duties. Betty refocuses herself on her reading, taking a nibble of her toast every so often. Mostly, she drinks her coffee while she scribbles down notes, grateful that the cup refills itself without her having to ask.

_Founded sometime in the 13th century, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic is situated in the Pyrenees mountain of southern France. Of its most notable alumni were --_

She’s just about done with her History of Magic reading when someone sits down directly in front of her.

“So this is where you go to hide,” Jughead says as he steals a piece of toast from her plate, devouring the slice in three bites.

“I’m not hiding,” she replies, not looking up from her reading, unbothered by his thievery. She flips a page. “Besides don’t you think this would be a terrible hiding spot? Given that it’s a meeting point for all the Hogwarts students.”

As if on cue, a few students start to trickle in and a plethora of steaming breakfast trays appear on the table. Jughead plucks a pastry off the platter in front of him and bites into it, shooting Betty a devilish grin.

He pretends as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “I was going to be a gentleman and escort you to breakfast this morning. Imagine my surprise when the portraits told me you had left an hour ago.” Cocking his head to the side, he continues to smile, looking every bit the dashing Quidditch star.

To her right, she can hear some first-years fawning over him, giggling and whispering-slash-not really whispering about how handsome and charming he is.

Rolling her eyes, Betty refuses to acknowledge this, deliberately ignoring the way the stray strand of hair dips onto his forehead, just begging her to reach out and curl her finger around it. She pays no attention to how the morning light filtering through the stained glass highlights the blue of his eyes, making them shimmer like sapphires.

She stubbornly ignores all of this. “I wasn’t aware that you were capable of being a gentleman,” she retorts with an innocent smile.

“I’d be happy to prove it to you, Polaris,” he replies, his voice sounding like it dropped an octave.

Before she can respond, she feels two someones sitting down next to her, flanking her.

“Are you lost?” Josie asks with a polite smile. She points her finger towards a table in the opposite corner of the Great Hall. “I believe the Gryffindor table is over there.”

Veronica laughs lightly at this and takes a delicate sip of her pumpkin juice, her brown eyes searing into him as she watches the interaction, carefully taking everything in.

Jughead doesn’t flinch from the outright dismissal. Instead, he tips his head towards them, saying cordially, “Until later.”

His eyes never flicker from Betty as he speaks. Then he turns on his heel, walking towards the Gryffindor table to join his friends, Reggie and Fangs, who are already devouring the plates of food in front of them.

“Did we just interrupt something?” Josie asks coyly, her brown eyes shining with interest as they move between Jughead’s retreating form and Betty’s face. At least, she was nice enough to wait until Jughead was out of earshot before she began her questioning.

Betty feels both Josie’s and Veronica’s eyes on her and schools her face to an expression of neutrality, one that she’s perfected over the years with painstaking practice. The skill was practically a necessary stipulation to being best friends with these two ladies. Between them both, they can sniff out anything you want to hide better than a niffler can locate a shiny object.

“Of course not. We were just talking about rounds later tonight,” Betty tells them.

Veronica hums lightly, spooning a portion of fresh fruit onto her plate. “Is that what you were talking about?”

“Of course,” Betty replies immediately.

Josie and Veronica share a look between them, one that Betty decisively ignores as she stabs her fork through a sausage link, taking a big bite off the end.

“Is that the reason why Jughead Jones, beloved Gryffindor heartthrob, keeps sneaking glances over at you?” Josie poses the question as if they were talking about the weather.

“He’s really not as sneaky as he thinks he is,” Veronica comments.

A tiny huff escapes Betty’s mouth as she rolls her eyes. “He’s not staring,” she mutters before she clears her throat, trying to think of a way to distract them. “Josie, what do you think of the Bent-Winged Snitches? The Headmistress says they’ll be performing at the ball.”

Excitement flashes in Josie’s eyes and she launches into a long monologue about their latest musical arrangement.

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It’s chilly today.

It’s probably not that unusual since Fall in Scotland is usually filled with many dreary, rainy days but the first cold day always throws her off-kilter. Betty pulls her robes around her a bit tighter as she walks to her next class, Advanced Transfiguration. She shuffles along, not at all surprised when she feels Kevin hook his arm through hers.

Instead of greeting her, he asks, “Gifford Ollerton vs. Morgan le Fay?”

She squeezes his forearm and scoffs. “Is that even a competition? Morgan le Fay, of course. You know, some would argue that she was more powerful than Merlin.”

Ever since they were paired together in History of Magic first-year in a Slytherin-Hufflepuff class, they’ve played this game. The objective was to pick two prominent wizards or witches in history and pit them against one another to find out who would win in a duel. Their mutual love of random historical facts is the backbone of their strong friendship.

“Agreed, and I also think that many of those historical recountings of Morgan’s true power are probably wildly understated,” Kevin poses.

“I could definitely see that. After all, how could a woman ever be more powerful than a man in the Middle Ages?” Betty says with a small smile, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“It’s unthinkable, my dear,” Kevin replies as they file into the classroom.

After grabbing a seat next to Kevin, Betty pulls out her textbook and flips to the section about Conjuring Spells, prepared and excited for today’s lesson. They’ve been focusing on non-verbal conjuring charms and hexes which is incredibly difficult, much more so than the other branches of Transfiguration that they’ve covered in previous years: transformation, switching, or vanishment.

Conjuring spells are difficult enough; add in the non-verbal component and it becomes even more challenging, to say the least. Most of her classmates have had difficulty successfully conjuring anything at all. It’s been rather amusing seeing the way some people turn red, boiling with frustration and annoyance but still nothing appears from their wands.

During the lecture, Betty dutifully jots down all the pertinent notes. Kevin writes messages to her every so often, scribbling them down on a blank piece of parchment. After a few seconds, the ink disappears into the paper so that the page appears to be empty.

The messages are usually relatively innocuous: _Do you think I should ask out Fangs Fogarty? He’s so hot. This lecture is so boring. Can we move onto the interesting part? I’m craving a pumpkin pasty._

Betty only answers every third or fourth note, choosing instead to actually pay attention -- the ever responsible student. After a string of unanswered messages, Kevin pokes Betty’s thigh with his wand, the tip zapping her.

Moving her left hand under the table, she wiggles her fingers, whispering, “ _Circumrota_.”

Kevin’s wand rotates, pointing back at his own leg and zaps him. He stifles a yelp and sends a glare in her direction.

“Ms. Cooper and Mr. Keller,” the Professor calls sternly. “Perhaps you two can demonstrate for us. Ms. Cooper, please cast a spout of water. Mr. Keller, a protection orb.”

Sheepishly, Betty and Kevin walk up to the middle of the classroom.

“On the count of three,” the Professor dictates. “Three, two, one.”

Betty points her wand out in front of her, brows furrowed as she concentrates, thinking, _Aqua Eructo!_

At the same time, Kevin also holds his wand out, his face a mask of focus.

A small stream of water flows out from Betty’s wand and shoots itself directly onto Kevin’s face. It completely drenches his upper body. He sputters, spitting the water out of his mouth. A small giggle escapes from Betty’s mouth as she rushes to him.

“Kev, are you okay?”

“Well done, Ms. Cooper. Five points to Slytherin,” their Professor commends. She waves her hand wordlessly and Kevin’s clothes, shoes, and hair instantly dry.

He offers the class a bashful smile before he shuffles back to his seat. The next set of students are called up to try as Betty slides back into her chair.

“I don’t think you actually need my help training,” he tells her with a smile. “You kick ass.”

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There’s an extra skip to her step as Betty exits the Transfiguration classroom, walking speedily towards her next class. Students bustle to and fro. As Betty approaches the familiar courtyard before the entrance to the Alchemy classroom, she hears the distinctive noise of punching -- the crack of bones against flesh.

She runs towards the sound, aghast when she sees two 5th-year Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students, she recognizes as Caleb Boot and Gabriel Sloper, throwing fists and rolling around on the grass. Pointing her wand directly into the middle of them, she yells out, “ _Depulso!_ ”

The two boys immediately fly apart from one another, landing with an audible oomph on opposite sides of the grassy courtyard. They groan from the impact. A few students pause in their walking, peeking through the open space to see what drama is unfolding. This fight will likely be the topic of gossip for the rest of the week.

“What is the meaning of this?” Betty demands, her voice harsh as her gaze bounces between the two boys.

“How dare you ask my girlfriend to the dance,” Caleb, the Ravenclaw student spits out, his fists clenching again, ignoring her question.

“You’re just pissed off she said yes. What can I say? I’m the better man,” Gabriel, the Gryffindor boasts.

Caleb poises to strike again, clearly wanting a physical fight rather than a spell duel. Just as Betty raises her wand to dole out another spell, Jughead appears out of nowhere, easily throwing the Ravenclaw down to the ground when he charges again.

“Enough.” Jughead’s booming voice rings throughout the courtyard, surprising Betty with its intensity. “Apologize to Ms. Cooper.” After a few moments of silence, his voice explodes once again. “Now.”

They shuffle to their feet, hanging their heads down.

“Sorry, Ms. Cooper.”

“Sorry.”

The two boys mumble this, still glaring at one another but knowing better than to disobey Jughead.

“Louder,” Jughead says, holding his hand up to his ear.

“Sorry, Ms. Cooper,” they echo, this time clearer.

“10 points from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor,” Betty says, giving them both stern looks. “If I catch you fighting again, it’ll be the Headmistress’ office next.”

They both pale at her threat and nod stupidly while muttering out more apologies. Standing there, they await their next instruction.

“Well, off to class,” she dismisses them with a roll of her eyes.

Caleb and Gabriel run off into the hallway, quickly disappearing from sight to prevent further punishment. Smoothing down her robes, Betty walks up towards Jughead who’s still standing in his original spot, his eyes blazing. She offers him a small smile which seems to melt his icy expression. They continue on to their next shared class, footsteps matching in pace with one another.

“Thanks for that,” she says, waving her hand vaguely in the direction the two boys ran off to. Biting her lip, she wonders if she should say anything more.

“Always,” he replies simply, flashing her a genuine smile.

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A few days later, Betty and Jughead call a meeting with the prefects in which they were theoretically supposed to jointly lead, but in reality, was mostly Betty speaking while Jughead leaned against the desk, arms crossed, quiet and stoic. Betty delegated all the expected tasks each prefect would complete in preparation for the Fall Ball. They only had about a month to prepare before the big event.

There was a lot of frenzied excitement amongst the prefects as the planning process began. The meeting was mostly productive and after Betty ended it, dismissing the prefects, they all practically barrel through the doors while exiting, ready for the lunch feast. Of her close friends, only Kevin and Josie are prefects. They wait patiently for her by the classroom entrance as Betty gathers her things.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Reggie shoving Jughead towards her direction. Reggie Mantle is probably one of the few people at Hogwarts that dares to put their hands on Jughead Jones. They are good friends, likely because they grew up together. The Mantles are a well-respected and old Wizarding family. Like the Joneses, they are a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, an exclusive and coveted group of the most prominent Pureblood families in the country. The Malfoys, Longbottoms, Lodges, and Muggs are amongst a few of the others represented.

“Are you headed off to lunch?” Jughead asks, waving his wand so that the papers gathered themselves into a neat pile in front of her.

“Yes, I hope they have cauldron cakes today. I could use a little pick-me-up,” she replies, shoving the papers into her bag before turning to walk towards Kevin and Josie who are watching them interact with glee.

“Some Gryffindors are having a small picnic by the Black Lake. Perhaps you’d like to join,” Jughead says, a hesitant lilt to his voice. He waves in Kevin and Josie’s direction, amending, “Your friends are also invited as well, of course. Inter-house unity and all.”

“Oh, I don’t-”

“Why, we’d love to join, Jughead! Thank you for inviting us,” Kevin butts in, suddenly appearing from behind Betty. “Is your friend Fangs Fogarty joining us as well?”

“I believe so,” Jughead replies, his brows furrowed. “Well, lovely. Shall we?”

“Lovely,” Betty says softly, shooting Kevin a glare after Jughead turns around.

“What the bloody hell was that?” she mouths at Kevin to which he replies with a saucy wink. She shoves him lightly out the door.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The small picnic turns out to be the majority of the 7th Year Gryffindors and a smattering of other 7th Year students from other Houses. Reggie had brought a picnic basket with an extension charm, pulling out endless platters of sandwiches and jugs of pumpkin juice. It turns out to be a certifiable feast.

Veronica, Kevin and Josie happily intermingle with a group of Gryffindor Quidditch players. Archie Andrews throws a golden snitch into the air while conversing, catching it before it can fly away too far. Veronica seems utterly charmed by the action. Reggie and Fangs throw a quaffle ball around while Kevin and Josie chatter away, eyes focused on their respective players. Toni Topaz, a Gryffindor, and Cheryl Blossom, a Ravenclaw, sit under a willow tree away from the crowd, heads bowed down in deep conversation.

Meanwhile, Betty stands at the edge of the lake, feet immersed in the water. She wiggles her toes against some tiny fishes that swim up to her legs, greeting her. Pointing her wand up in the air, she practices the Aqua Eructo charm wordlessly, over and over again. Water sprays from her wand into the lake, creating an arc in the air that eventually falls into the still sheet of shimmering dark blue.

As of now, only a small stream of water erupts from her wand. Slowly but surely, she wants to build it up to a point where it’ll be a powerful and destructive jet. She points her wand out repeatedly, determined to master this charm.

She loses track of how long she stands there in the lake, continuously shooting out water from her wand. After a few more casts, a fountain explodes from her wand and she has to hold on tight to ensure her wand won’t slip from her hand. It fades away after a few moments.

She’s just about to cheer when she hears the sound of clapping. Turning around, she sees Jughead standing a few feet away from her, also with shoes off and bare legs immersed in the water.

“Nicely done,” he commends, continuing to clap.

“I still need to work on the velocity but I finally got more than a steady stream to come out,” she tells him excitedly, practically bouncing from her success.

“It’s impressive work. Especially doing it non-verbally. That makes things infinitely more difficult.”

She smiles brightly at him, unable to contain her enthusiasm. “Thank you.”

He takes a step closer to her, the water splashing in her direction. He holds his hand out, palm open and she spots something small still wrapped in its distinctive packaging.

“Cauldron cake,” he explains. “You said you were craving them.”

Betty takes it from him, her fingertips brushing against his open palm. Electricity shoots down her spine and she looks up, her gaze meeting his. She unwraps it and breaks off a piece, handing it to him. He smiles at this and thanks her.

After a few slow bites, she asks, “You’re not like them at all, are you?”

Pureblood society. Rich and famous Quidditch players. The high and mighty. The untouchables. She’s not exactly sure who she means but she thinks he does.

“I suppose not,” he answers.

She nibbles another bite, savoring the chocolate pastry. They stand there quietly for a few moments before Jughead holds his wand out, concentrating. A powerful jet stream expels from his wand.

Betty’s green eyes widen at this, knowing how difficult it is, having spent the last thirty minutes practicing that charm.

“How did you do that?” she asks, unable to contain the awe in her words.

“Before I cast, I think of a body of water -- the North Sea, the Pacific Ocean, Loch Ness -- any body of water and focus on that image. It helps immensely,” Jughead reveals. “Try it.”

Betty turns back towards the lake and holds her wand out. Closing her eyes, she thinks about the North Sea and its choppy waters. She imagines a buoy floating in the dark, stormy mass, barely staying afloat as it’s surrounded by stronger and higher waves. Whipping her hand, she feels the magic shooting down her arm, traveling to her fingers and then out her wand.

She opens her eyes to a torrent of water slamming out of her wand and into the air. It flies up almost 20 ft. before it crashes down into the lake, sprinkling her and Jughead with cascading drops.

Giggles erupt from her mouth and Betty throws herself into his unexpecting arms. His hands come around her body almost immediately. He’s so warm -- this is the first thing that she notices. The second thing is his hard chest -- it’s like steel yet it’s oddly comforting. She can feel the muscles in his arm contract as he pulls her closer, squeezing her tight against him.

Pulling back after a few moments, she smiles fondly at him. “Thank you.”

“Always.”

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“As you all should know, Veritaserum must mature for a full lunar phase before it is effective. It is clear, colorless, and odorless which means it’s virtually indistinguishable from water. A powerful weapon in the wrong hands,” Professor Malfoy lectures. His robes billow out behind him as he walks from one side of the classroom to the other. His platinum blonde hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. The bright color makes a sharp contrast to his dark robes. It’s as if he stepped out of a Wizarding fashion magazine.

Betty scribbles down notes, not at all distracted by the Professor’s melodic voice and good looks. She knows a lot of students are probably taking this difficult course because he’s nice to look at but not Betty. Advanced Potions is one of the required classes for the Department of Mysteries position. She needs to do well no matter what.

Out of the corner of her eye, Betty sees Ava Prewett sigh wistfully as she twirls a strand of her long caramel hair around her index finger, blatantly ogling Professor Malfoy.

“Given its difficulty level, I anticipate most of you will fail to successfully produce the serum,” Malfoy continues, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Begin.”

His speech is a smidge over-dramatic but Betty still thinks he’s brilliant -- a master of his craft -- and one of her favorite Professors at Hogwarts. She might be a tiny bit biased. Similar to Severus Snape, who preceded him in the position, Malfoy favors Slytherins.

Betty’s table consists of Jughead, who is sitting across from her and Veronica and Kevin on either side of her.

“Thank goodness it’s odorless. I can’t even count the number of times I smell like sewage after Potions class,” Veronica bemoans as she lights the fire under her cauldron.

“Ooo, I actually just discovered this great charm that can get rid of that lingering smell with a flick of your wrist,” Kevin tells her.

“Really? Please share. I am so sick of throwing out my robes because I can’t get the stench out of them.”

“ _Scourgify_ doesn’t work?” Betty asks, only vaguely listening as she flips open her potion book.

“No!” Veronica responds, outrage slipping into her tone. “You’d think it would but I could _Scourgify_ it a thousand times and the smell is still there. Maybe I’m casting it wrong.”

“It’s the fumes,” Kevin says knowingly with a sage nod.

He launches into a description of the charm and Betty tunes them out. She starts to read the instructions as the cauldron heats up. After a few minutes, she gets up to get ingredients from the supply closet.

Her ears perk up when she hears the sound of elevated voices and harsh tones.

“Professor, you’re out of Wormwood,” she hears Jughead speaking, able to pick out his voice anywhere.

“Wormwood is not necessary for Veritaserum. Why are you looking through my stores, Mr. Jones?”

“My apologies. I was simply letting you know in case you wanted to replenish.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about my Potions supplies and you focus on not exploding the cauldron this time.”

“That was one time in the third year.”

“Your excuses are meaningless and are mucking up my classroom. And to think, I was in a good mood today.”

Betty pokes her head around the corner, effectively interrupting them before it escalates. Thinking quickly, she asks, “Sir, sorry to interrupt but are we meant to use Knotgrass or Infusion of Knotgrass?”

“Excellent question, Ms. Cooper,” Malfoy says, shooting another glare at Jughead before he walks towards her table.

She follows behind him, offering Jughead a small smile that he seems to gratefully accept.

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It’s hard to believe that the semester has only just officially started considering just how much homework Betty’s accumulated already. Throwing her hair up in a messy bun, she slips into a comfortable pair of pajama pants and a loose t-shirt. She’s always preferred wearing muggle clothing when she’s not out and about. It’s more comfortable and breathable than the usual wool robes.

The stone steps are cool against her bare feet as she descends the staircase that leads to her private room. Voltaire follows her, winding his body through her legs as she walks, nearly tripping her. She reaches down and pats him on the head. When she steps into the common room, she’s grateful that the fireplace is already on, warming up the room and her cold feet almost instantly.

Plopping down onto the plush carpet in front of the fireplace, she spreads her books and parchment over the big table. Voltaire circles around the common room for a few minutes, doing his nightly patrols. After he’s done, he walks over to the roaring fire and plops himself down next to it, curling into a ball, resting his head on his paws.

Betty’s about halfway done with her Defense Against the Dark Arts essay, ink smudged on her hands and fingernails, when Jughead enters the room. Voltaire’s head pops up when he hears the disturbance, only to settle back down on his paws once again when he realizes who it is. Jughead’s still dressed in his robes and his hair is a wild mess again, strands sticking up in every direction.

“How was Quidditch practice?” she asks with a small smile, not looking up from her work.

“Not practice,” he says as he shrugs off his flying robes and sets his broom down, leaning it against the wall in the corner of the room.

She looks up at this, her green eyes curious.

He settles down on the couch next to her, lying his long and lithe body down on the cushions. “I fly to clear my mind.”

“Stressed?” she asks, continuing to scribble down sentences.

“You could say that,” he responds cryptically. “What are you working on?”

“The essay on the after-effects of the Imperius Curse.” Betty sets down her quill for a moment. “I feel like I’m running out of things to say. The topic is not really worthy of 6 ft. of parchment.”

He sits up and rests his elbows on his knees. “I’m guessing you’ve already covered the potential for irreversible biological damage.”

“Yup,” she says, popping the ‘p’. “That took up about 2 feet. I also wrote a bit about the possibility of losing one’s mind if one is subjected to a poorly cast Imperius.”

Jughead looks thoughtful for a moment before he grabs the open book that she has resting on the table, flipping through the pages before he taps the corner, setting it back down in front of her.

“What about if you discuss what might happen if you are _Imperio’ed_ twice?”

Her brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean? Like if someone curses you once and then someone else curses you again?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s a possibility?” Her voice is tinged with intrigue.

“It’s referenced here as such. It’d be interesting to consider the aftermath. It could either be that the second Imperius would counteract the first, making it null. Or-”

“It could also cause irrevocable mental harm since the brain is receiving two different commands,” she interjects excitedly. Flashing him the brightest smile, she grabs her quill enthusiastically, dipping it into the inkpot and then touching it to the parchment, furiously writing out her thoughts. “Thank you, Jug. This is brilliant.”

She doesn’t notice the warm smile that covers his face, making his features softer, more open and vulnerable.

He gets up after a few minutes and retreats up the staircase to his room.

“Goodnight!” Betty calls out after him, finding it a little unusual that he didn’t even say anything before going to bed. That’s unlike him. Through all his teasing, he’d always been polite, a perfect gentleman when it came to manners.

She doesn’t fixate on it though, continuing to write her essay. The living room is silent, besides the sound of flickering flames and her quill scratching against the parchment. It’s why she clearly hears descending steps on the staircase.

Cocking her head towards it, she’s surprised when she sees Jughead walking back into the living room, books and parchment in hand, wearing muggle plaid pajama pants and a faded S t-shirt. Dressed like this, he doesn’t look anything like the Pureblood heir that his surname and reputation would suggest.

He sits down next to her on the carpet and spreads out his own books. Hiding her shock, she rearranges her face and looks away as he flattens out a roll of parchment. She moves her inkpot so that it’s in the center of the table.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“Of course.”

Then they start working on their individual essays. Every so often, Jughead interrupts the silence with a question to which Betty would think thoughtfully and then respond. They work like this until Betty completes two essays. Her legs are numb from lack of movement. Extending them out, she stretches with a satisfied moan. Shaking out her right hand, her muscles ache in protest.

“Sore again?” he asks.

“I should’ve taken a break and not written two essays straight through.”

He reaches forward, putting her hand in his while he massages it, yet again.

“You’ll have to teach me your ways so you don’t have to keep doing this for me,” she says quietly, her breath hitching in her throat.

His movements are dexterous, like last time. Every motion he makes eases the soreness.

“I like doing this for you,” he tells her.

It’s an intimate scene -- him giving her a massage in front of a roaring fireplace. She should be uncomfortable and a small part of her is, but at the same time, it’s also soothing. His actions are so gentle and she finds that this new side of Jughead, the part that he’s only started opening up to her recently, is one that she finds alluring.

He’s sweet. Caring. Thoughtful. Brilliant.

These characterizations of him are foreign to her and she swallows them down whilst pulling her hand away.

“Thank you,” she says.

Jolting up, she wakes up Voltaire, picking him up in her arms after gathering all her things. Muttering a quick “good night”, she runs up the steps to her room, to safety.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000


	3. Incendio - Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the Quidditch trials scene gives you major HBP vibes because it was heavily inspired by it. Part of Reggie and Toni’s lines are taken directly from it! 
> 
> I don’t know anything about Arithmancy so I apologize in advance if I butcher anything. The line that Toni deciphers comes straight from [here](http://www.the-leaky-cauldron.org/features/essays/issue9/arithmancy/). 
> 
> Thank you Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for coming up with the name Apus for the Jones’s family owl!
> 
> Thanks Jana ([latenightcoffeetalks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightcoffeetalks/pseuds/latenightcoffeetalks)) for beta-ing and for listening to all my nutty ideas. Love you, darling!!!
> 
> Thanks Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for this AMAZING header. IT'S SO PERFECT. You're the best!!!!

_Well you're just across the street_  
_Looks a mile to my feet_  
_I want to go to you_  
_Funny how I'm nervous still_  
_I've always been the easy kill_  
_I guess I always will_  
_Could it be that everything goes round by chance_  
_Or only one way that it was always meant to be_  
_You kill me, you always know the perfect thing to say_  
_I know what I should do but I just can't walk away_

_"Kill" by Jimmy Eat World_

_**Three: Incendio - Fire** _

Another year at Hogwarts.

Most wizards and witches would assume that as the only son and therefore, the only heir, of the Jones fortune, Jughead would be looking forward to it but if anything, it just feels like another year in purgatory -- being so physically close to the one witch that he desires but coincidentally, also the one that has no interest in him whatsoever.

Sometimes, he thinks the universe has it out for him. After all, that has to be the reason why before they even arrived at Hogwarts, the fates thought it would be hilarious to shove them close together -- literally. He had been walking towards the luggage compartment to gather his trunks when he felt a small, dainty body collide into his. The scent of black orchids and plums wafts into his senses, completely surrounding him. Hints of bitter orange and bergamot tingle his scent receptors and immediately, before even looking at her, he knows who it is.

Betty Cooper.

She’s one of the few witches that uses muggle perfume so the smell is distinctive -- something that’s uniquely her. It pierces him -- wiggling itself into his thoughts and memory. At night, it’ll dance around him, taunting him. He’ll reach into his trousers and do unspeakable things, losing himself in his fantasies of her scent, her green eyes, and the silkiness of her skin.

She wants to dismiss him, to leave. But he can’t abide by that. He’ll take anything she wants to give him -- her attention, her laughter, her admiration, her love, and even her anger. But he can’t accept indifference. It kills him to think that she would be able to so easily forget about him -- to erase him from her life.

How he wishes he could do the same with her. But he can’t. She’s infuriatingly intoxicating and he finds that he thinks about her constantly, often at the most inopportune times.

She starts to walk away from him and it feels like she’s taking her wand and casting _Diffinido_ on his robes, along with the skin stretched tight over his chest underneath, slicing through him. He feels raw and exposed around her and it’s not a familiar sensation.

It makes him feel weak. And Joneses are not weak.

So he taunts her. Her cheeks flush with anger and embarrassment. He steps closer in her direction, getting into her personal space. She’s uncomfortable and that instantly makes him think the power dynamic shifts in his favor. He’s in control.

It’s something that he desperately craves when he’s around her. She tilts him off his axis and it’s the most terrifying realization because he knows, if she truly asked him, he would give her everything without question.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000

It’s a beautiful day. One of those rare sunny and warm ones -- especially for Northern Scotland. This type of perfect weather is almost unheard of here. There are only three or four stray clouds, wisps of white, in the blue sky. The sun beams down, the rays heating the back of Jughead’s neck as he claps his hands together before whistling, trying to get everyone’s attention.

He stands next to Reggie Mantle and Toni Topaz, co-captains of the Gryffindor team. Respectively, Jughead is the Keeper, Reggie a Beater, and Toni a Chaser. Today, people are trying out for the available remaining positions on the team: two more Chasers, one more Beater, and one Seeker.

Everyone knows that Archie Andrews will get the Seeker position -- after all, he is rarely seen without a snitch in his hands; his father, Fred, is considered to be as talented as Harry Potter was. But the rest are up for grabs.

“Shut it!” Toni bellows out.

All the students form a straight horizontal line next to each other, shoving one another out of the way but scared to make any noise.

“As you all know, just because you made the team last year does not guarantee you a spot on the team this year. We’ll do trials for the Chasers and Beater first and then the Seeker. Suit up, everyone!” Reggie yells out, embracing his position as co-captain.

Jughead watches the students fly around with interest, his blue eyes carefully assessing everyone’s performance. As much as he hates to admit it, Gabriel Sloper is probably the ideal pick for Beater even though he’s an enormous cad. He’s large and burly, deftly slamming the bludgers away from his teammates effectively and quickly.

Munroe Moore would also be a good pick. He would need to work on his control though as he’s clearly batting at 100% the entire time instead of picking and choosing the right moments to use full force.

“Go Jughead!”

Distracted by the noise, Jughead’s ears tingle and his head snaps up towards the stands. He hears people cheering his name from the bleachers which is strange because he’s not trying out. He, Reggie, and Toni are automatically granted their previous spots as they hold leadership positions on the Quidditch team. Lifting his hand to his forehead to block out the sun, he sees through squinted eyes that it’s Ethel Muggs and Trula Twyst, both 7th Year Ravenclaws. Cheryl Blossom sits a safe distance away from them -- no doubt wanting to cheer her girlfriend on but has no desire to interact with her fellow House members.

Ethel and Trula continue to cheer obnoxiously loud, causing a ruckus. A small smirk emerges on his face -- more members of his fan club, it seems. This isn’t even their Quidditch team or House and yet, they’re still here at tryouts.

Jughead flies next to Toni who is sitting atop her broom, like him, about 10 feet away.

“Sloper’s got quite the arm on him,” he says to her.

The wind picks up around them. Her long brown hair with hot pink tips whips around her heart-shaped face. A look of annoyance flashes in her deep caramel eyes.

“Why does it have to be Sloper? I will take literally any other person than him. He’s hot-headed and out of control,” Toni laments.

“We’re supposed to be judging them based on talent not personality,” Jughead comments.

“I’m aware, Jones,” Toni says, shooting him an exasperated look. “I just think his stupid attitude will affect his performance and everyone else’s morale.”

“You’re probably right,” he admits. They both lean back on their brooms when a few red and yellow blurs fly by them. Jughead nods towards the retreating form. “What do you think of her, Annabelle Dunbar?”

“She’s fast. Maybe a Chaser?”

“She’d do well there. You know her mother, Fay is the Beater for the Holyhead Harpies.”

“That explains her technique,” Toni says. “She’s very talented. I like Munroe Moore best for Beater. He’s both strong and an excellent flyer. He’s infinitely better than Sloper, in my opinion.”

Jughead’s just about to praise Munroe when their conversation is interrupted by yet another series of screaming cheers from the stands. He doesn’t even turn around to reward them with a look in their direction.

“I see your fanclub decided to attend,” Toni muses, clearly entertained by the show. “Do they realize that you’re not actually trying out and therefore, the cheering is not entirely necessary?”

“Clearly not,” he retorts. “I don’t know why they insist on following me around.”

“They want to be the next Lady Jones and enjoy the fruits of your inheritance. You're also not awful to look at, I suppose.”

Jughead sighs and doesn’t respond. Instead, he focuses his attention back on the students flying around. He can’t get Toni’s words out of his head because he knows that she’s right. It’s another reason why he’s so drawn to Betty.

His fortune and the prestige of his name don’t appeal to her whatsoever. If anything, she seems to be turned off by them. It makes her all the more desirable.

At the end of the trials, Reggie flies up right next to where they’re hovering, launching into his thoughts without greeting them. “Dunbar and Fogarty for Chaser, Sloper for Beater, and obviously, Andrews for Seeker.”

“Really, Sloper?” Toni moans.

“What’s it to you, Topaz?” Reggie asks.

“That idiot hit on my girlfriend. That’s what it is to me,” she replies, her eyes ablaze.

“Wow, he’s just hitting on everyone’s girlfriends,” Jughead says, laughter dancing in his tone. At their perplexed looks (read: Reggie’s confusion and Toni’s general hacked off-ness), Jughead recounts the story where he and Betty had to stop Caleb Boot from smashing Gabriel’s face in.

“Yeah, that wanker is not joining this team if I have anything to say about it,” Toni says immediately after Jughead finishes.

He nods, agreeing with her. They both turn to look at Reggie.

Reggie holds his hands up, palms facing out, a sign of acceptance and deference. “Alright, fine. Moore for Beater, then? You know, we’re going to have to replace our bludgers after each match. Did you see the way that bludger exploded after he hit it? That guy is so strong; he’s definitely going to destroy all our equipment.”

“It’s not like we can’t afford it,” Toni bites back, giving both Reggie and Jughead a sharp look.

“Yeah, yeah. Point taken,” Reggie says, his tone conciliatory. “Let’s announce our new team then.”

0000000000000000000000000000000000

Most students despise Arithmancy. It’s a complicated and difficult subject; in his opinion, infinitely more difficult than Divination. At least, with Divination you either have the talent or you don’t. With Arithmancy, it’s less about being born with the sight and more about your analytical abilities.

For him, numbers are comforting. They’re logical, unchanging, and unyielding. Something about that appeals to him.

Like most classes, he listens intently to Professor Vector’s lecture but doesn’t jot down any notes. His mind works like a library. Every lecture and bit of information he absorbs is filed into its own separate category. When he wants to revisit it, he’s able to pull it out and recall it as clearly as the day he first learned it.

It’s part of the reason why he’s so good at Arithmancy. The subject requires intense memorization of formulas and the ability to analyze text using a variety of complicated number charts.

At the front of the classroom, Professor Vector moves her hands so a grid with numbers projects into the air.

“Can anyone tell me what the first line reads?” Professor Vector asks the class.

A hush falls over the classroom as the students all look down, shifting awkwardly in their chairs. His best friend, Toni, raises her hand.

“Wonderful, Ms. Topaz, please come up and let us know what you find.”

Toni nods at her and walks to the front, standing directly in front of the projected grid. Her brown eyes narrow as she deciphers the first row of numbers. She scribbles a few things down onto the parchment, taking a few minutes to work out the calculations.

“Number is the within of all things,” Toni says as she puts her quill down.

“Well done! Five points to Gryffindor,” Professor Vector announces as she claps and moves onto the next portion of the class.

When Toni sits back down next to Jughead, she shoots him a triumphant smirk.

“I think I might be beating you at your favorite subject, Jones,” she teases. Her brown eyes twinkle with mischief as she nudges his side.

“You got lucky,” he retorts, no malice in his tone. He knows what he's saying is a lie -- his best friend is brilliant and they both know it.

“I think you’re mixing luck with skill there.”

“Doubtful.”

Professor Vector clears her throat. The noise grabs their attention and effectively ends their side conversation. Toni blushes from embarrassment whereas Jughead stares straight ahead, completely unaffected as if they hadn’t been caught at all.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

He used to hate rounds.

In his opinion, they are so stupid and pointless. Two students paired up to cover the entirety of the castle? Most of the time, even if students are out and about, frolicking past hours when they aren’t supposed to be, by the time the prefects catch up with them, they are already in another part of the castle. It’s an antiquated way to ensure students aren’t breaking the rules.

In reality, it’s really a way to catch the students who are stupid enough to get caught. It’s their own fault that they aren’t clever enough to avoid the prefects on duty. They deserve to get points deducted.

Rounds with Betty are different though.

He finds that he actually enjoys this time with her where they’re alone for a few hours and she’s forced to interact with him because no matter how much she wants to, she can’t ignore that he’s walking alongside her, right there next to her.

She’s one of the few people that he’s met in his life that isn’t scared of silence. In his family, silence is almost something that’s feared. It’s as if words equal power and influence so the more words spoken, the more control you have. It’s something that he’s never necessarily agreed with. He’s always been very careful with his own words and what he shares with others. Whatever he chooses to divulge, it’s tactical and measured. Everything he says, he’s thought of and rolled around his tongue and mind plenty of times before.

Words are important to him. They mean something. He values the importance of silence even more.

It seems like Betty does too and it’s another thing to add to the list of never-ending characteristics she possesses that he admires about her.

They’re on the ground floor, having just passed the Portrait Room. Their steps are evenly matched and in sync. Betty makes an effort to peek into the dark corners in the corridors -- a favorite hiding-slash-necking spot for couples. Her long blonde hair swishes around her face every time she ducks into a corner, head popping out to check.

It’s very endearing.

He has to force his hands to stay at his sides instead of reaching out and brushing a strand of golden silk out of her face. It looks so soft and tempting. If he extends his arm out a little bit, he can wind his fingers through her hair and pull her close. Her lips are pink and full. He imagines they would be delectable to devour and he could slip his hand under her jumper and--

“Jughead, did you hear me?”

He snaps out of his thoughts, turning to face her. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked why you were interested in the Department of Mysteries position.”

 _How to answer this delicately?_ he thinks. “It’s a prestigious role and one that my father has been pestering me about ever since 5th Year.”

“That’s nice that you have the support of your family,” Betty says. “I wish my parents were like that. They really want me to work for the Prophet but I feel like the publication has just become a microphone for the Ministry. There’s no independence there.”

“Very insightful,” he agrees. “It’s just one parent for me though. My mother has other ambitions in mind.”

“What do you mean?” she asks curiously. She stumbles for a moment and looks at him with wide eyes. “I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

He smiles at this. She’s one of the few witches (and wizards, if he’s being honest) at Hogwarts that doesn’t want to find out everything they can about his personal life. Usually, he’s a pretty private person. Not even his best friends know all that he’s thinking but it’s so easy to share with her. The words seem to just tumble out.

“She wants me to embrace my name and title and become the family patriarch. Working and having a successful career is beneath me, in her eyes,” he answers candidly, his tone neutral.

“But your father-”

“She’s given up on trying to change his mind. He can be rather stubborn when he wants to be. It’s probably where I inherited the trait from.”

“That must be frustrating,” she finally says after a few quiet moments. “You shouldn’t hold yourself to your parents’ wishes and desires. Your own wants and needs are more important.”

“So wise.”

She smiles wryly at this. “I try.”

Jughead nods and they turn a corner, catching two students stumbling out of an empty classroom, clothes in disarray and their cheeks flushed pink. The girl’s breasts are practically falling out of her shirt as she struggles to button it up and the boy pulls his pants up hurriedly.

Betty covers her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle her laughs while Jughead looks disgusted and annoyed.

“Oy, you two!” he calls out. “Detention and 10 points deducted from both your Houses.”

The mood immediately shifts, dissipating whatever conversation they were having before. Hours later, when he’s back in his own private bedroom, he finds that her words are still echoing through his mind.

_Your own wants and needs are more important._

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

One of the more unfortunate side effects of having a ball at Hogwarts is the mandatory dance classes for everyone, taught by Professors on staff as opposed to professional dancers.

It’s regrettable and also, painstakingly miserable.

Today, it’s the Gryffindors and Slytherins’ turn. Jughead stands against the stone wall of the classroom, arms crossed as he watches the 4th Years stumble over one another, stepping on each other’s toes every few seconds. It’s both amusing and stupefying.

Across the classroom, he sees a familiar head of blonde hair standing with the other Slytherins. He’s always had this uncanny ability to pick her out of a crowd. She’s standing to the side, walking through some steps with her friends, Veronica and Josie.

It seems like Betty Cooper doesn’t enjoy dancing. The smirk on his face deepens at this realization.

Professor Flitwick claps his hands together as the song ends and the music fades.

“Well done, 4th Years. 7th Years up next,” he calls out before he shuffles towards the gramophone, tinkering with it and letting the students take the floor.

Hearing this, Jughead pushes off the wall and makes a beeline for one person only. A few girls approach him as he moves across the classroom, clearly wanting to ask him to be their partner, but his glower seems to effectively scare them off. When he finally reaches Betty, he stands behind her and clears his throat, getting her attention.

In the few milliseconds before she turns around, he savors the scent of her familiar perfume -- black orchids and plums, forever haunting him when he’s alone at night.

Her green eyes glimmer with confusion as she realizes who’s standing behind her. He realizes he should probably say something so he doesn’t just stand there, looking creepy and strange. But it’s so easy to get distracted by the green reflected in her eyes -- it’s not like any other color in the universe, he’s come to deduce. Not quite as light as the color of grass, not quite as deep as the color of pine trees in the forest. He thinks he can spend an eternity searching for the right descriptor.

“Yes?” she prompts after a few more seconds of silence.

His expression remains neutral. “Let’s practice.”

“Practice?” she says the word like it’s bitter in her mouth. “Practice for what?”

“For the ball,” he explains, impatience creeping in as he realizes most of the students have already gathered in the center of the classroom, ready for the music to start.

“I’m not dancing at the ball. I’m a terrible dancer with two left feet so it’s pointless to even-”

He doesn’t let her finish the rest of her sentence. Instead, he puts his hand on top of hers, not letting himself get diverted by the way her hand fits so perfectly in his. She starts to protest as they hit the dance floor but once he twirls her deftly, she stops resisting.

Instead, she melts into his body, one hand in his and the other on his shoulder. They float easily around the dance floor. For the first time in his life, he’s thankful that his parents forced him to take ballroom dancing lessons when he was younger. After all, it was practically a requirement in wealthy pureblood Wizarding society.

He leads her effortlessly and she follows each and every one of his steps without missing a single one, effectively mirroring him. The music filters out of the gramophone -- a light melodic waltz. It’s playful yet romantic; the perfect first song that Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones ever dance to. He didn’t recognize it when it first started playing but he thinks now, it’ll be the soundtrack to his dreams.

Her skin is as soft as silk. It’s almost impossible for him to keep himself unaffected as he holds her in his arms, their chests inches away from one another. He wills his heart to stop pounding so loudly so she can’t hear.

He has his pride, after all.

They don’t speak; they just dance. When the song ends, he lets go first, albeit begrudgingly.

“Thanks,” she says softly to him when their hands stop touching. She murmurs quietly, “That was quite nice.”

It almost sounds like a whisper, like it’s something dark and dirty that she doesn’t want to admit out loud. A part of him preens at the thought that she may not be as unaffected as she desperately tries to be.

Jughead doesn’t respond and just gives her a quick nod before he returns to the safety of the other side of the room. Reggie and Fangs elbow one another and joke around as the 5th Years are up next for practicing. They jostle around raucously.

He doesn’t pay any attention to them, his thoughts centered around how he’s unable to stop the tingle in his fingertips.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

After class, Jughead’s eager to get to the Great Hall for lunch. His stomach had been growling at him for the last hour and a half. Clearly, two plates of sausage, eggs, and toast weren’t enough. The students slowly trickle out of the classroom and he follows the crowd, somewhat listening to Reggie and Fangs debate which teams are going to make it to the Quidditch World Cup final this year.

Reggie thinks it’ll be Japan and Ireland while Fangs is convinced it will be Argentina and Bulgaria. They continue to bicker while Jughead rolls his eyes, keeping his distance away from them so he doesn’t get pulled into the argument.

He feels a light touch on his arm and turns on his foot.

“Ethel,” he greets, a slight frown on his face as he’s not entirely sure why she’s stopping him. “Yes?”

Ethel’s cheeks flush red, the color matching her bouncy curls. She laces her fingers together in front of her and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. He can immediately tell that she’s nervous which is typical for when she tries to talk to him, probably due to her sweet and shy disposition. She’s been a proud member of his fan club for years even though he’s never shown any interest.

“Hi Jughead.”

He nods at her, signaling for her to get on with it and just blurt out whatever she has to say.

“I was wondering if maybe-” Ethel pauses for a moment, fiddling with her blue and bronze tie.

He continues to stare at her blankly, waiting for her to finish whatever she has to say. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Betty exit the classroom. She’s the last remaining student to exit, likely because she stayed to help Professor Flitwick clean up, knowing her.

“Maybe you’d like to go to the ball with me?” Ethel asks, her tone hopeful and wistful. Her brown eyes are so big on her delicate face, like he could almost see his own reflection in them.

Betty passes by them, a small frown on her face as she walks by them. He wonders if maybe she heard. Is she jealous? He can only hope. She shuffles by slowly and he can tell that Betty’s averting her gaze, like she wants to look everywhere but at him and Ethel. He waits until Betty’s a little further down the hallway, out of earshot before he responds.

“I’m sorry, Ethel, but the Heads are required to accompany one another to the dance,” he tells her, his tone still maintaining the same neutrality. In all honesty, he’s not sorry about it at all but still, he doesn’t want to wound Ethel further. She’s always been agreeable and he’s not the type to lead people on or deliberately try to inflict emotional pain.

He sees the disappointment and sadness flash in her eyes. While he knows, he should try to comfort her, he can’t bring himself to lie to her and say falsehoods that would ease the rejection. Her fingers twist her tie tighter and tighter, almost as if she wants to suffocate herself.

“Are you off to lunch?” he asks, hoping to distract her.

She nods lightly as if she’s unable to speak. Letting go of the tie, her hands return to her sides, her fingers trembling.

“Shall I accompany you to the Great Hall?”

He flashes her one of his signature smiles and it has the desired effect. She perks up immediately, the vitality returning to her face as she nods eagerly.

“I hope they have cauldron cakes today,” Ethel wishes as they walk towards the dining area.

His lips twitch as his thoughts travel to another witch that also likes cauldron cakes. Ethel talks excitedly, her words racing wildly. It’s one of the few times that they’ve ever been alone together and definitely the first time that he’s walked her to lunch. Jughead simply nods quietly, grateful that he’s known for his stoic persona so there’s no obligation for him to respond.

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When he arrives in the Great Hall, the spacious dining hall is already filled with students who are chattering away as they feast. Jughead walks down the path, spotting his friends at their usual table. His blue eyes scan the room, not surprised when he doesn’t see Betty. She doesn’t eat at normal times, he’s come to realize over the years. He knows she likes to take advantage of the library during dining hours because it’s quiet and uncrowded.

Her studies are her priority and passion -- he respects that.

He’s well aware that he doesn’t really need to try in his academics. After all, his mother would be more than happy for him to embrace his title and become a gentleman -- one that certainly doesn’t sully himself with working like a commoner. However, he’s never desired that type of lifestyle for himself. He takes after his father in that sense. There’s this innate fire within him that pushes him to want to prove himself -- to prove that he is worthy of what he has.

To prove that he is worthy of being a Jones.

Jughead settles down on the bench across from Reggie and Fangs, next to Archie. He starts to cram food into his mouth as he listens silently to the conversation going on around him. Owls fly overhead delivering letters and packages.

Just as he sets down his glass of pumpkin juice after taking a sip, his family owl, Apus, lands next to his hand and drops a letter into it. He pets Apus, smoothing down his regal brown spotted feathers and feeds him a cracker. Apus trills gratefully before he ascends back up into the air.

Jughead turns the letter in his hands, already dreading reading it. The paper is heavy, expensive and hand-made. There is a red seal at the opening, stamped with their family crest. It’s a letter from his mother and he already knows he’s not going to enjoy seeing what’s enclosed. With a sigh, he tears it open.

_Forsythe,_

_The manor is lonely and quiet without your presence. Your father has been working relentlessly with a slew of new cases emerging daily. I will never understand his proclivity for working himself to the bone. I know you have inherited this trait from him. But let us not focus on these unsavory topics._

_You are already of age and in a few short weeks, you will come into your inheritance. It is time for you to select a bride. You are the future of this household. It is your responsibility. You have been so very difficult about this topic. As we all know, this decision should’ve been made for you at birth like I had insisted on, instead of this wild nonsense of having you select your own counterpart. Your father was so against it, unsurprisingly._

_I will begin to make arrangements for you to meet some ladies worthy of a proper engagement over the Yuletide holidays. I am sure you will deign to accept their charms._

Blue eyes blazing with frustration, he skims through the rest of the thick letter in which his mother goes on to say that Jellybean is excited about starting at Hogwarts next year as well as dedicating an entire page and a half to complaining about how her rose bushes are not up to par this year.

Crumpling the letter with one hand, he whispers wandlessly, “ _Incendio_.”

The pages go up in flames and he stares at it, relieved that every scrap of the letter has been destroyed by the small fire. His gaze continues to bore into the space that the letter previously occupied with grim intensity.

He feels someone kick his leg under the table and frowns.

Reggie raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been staring into nothing for the last ten minutes. It’s starting to get creepy, dude.”

“It was creepy at the five-minute mark,” Fangs offers with a grin.

Jughead makes an obscene gesture towards them before he rolls his eyes, refusing to acknowledge their unwanted commentary. Archie launches into another monologue about his hopes for a music career post-graduation which effectively distracts everyone’s attention off of him.

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He knows he should probably be studying in the library right now but he’s feeling agitated after reading his mother’s letter. After classes are over, he grabs his broom and walks out to the open field next to the Quidditch pitch and hops on, ascending into the air.

He’s been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team since second-year so he and Madame Hooch get along quite well. He’s one of the few students that’s allowed to fly around school grounds without express permission from the Headmistress. Madame Hooch understood his need to practice his flying skills -- at least, that’s what he told her.

In all honesty, he really doesn’t need more practice. He’s been flying with his Dad since before he could walk. It was one of his favorite bonding experiences with his father. Whenever Jughead was frustrated or annoyed or sad, he would grab his and his Dad’s brooms -- an effective signal that meant he needed to clear his head. He and his Dad would fly in silence most of the time. On rare occasions, he would open up about his innermost feelings.

It’s become an addiction or a habit -- whatever you want to call it, really. For him, flying is the antidote to all his problems. When he’s up in the air, he’s unaffected by the rest of the shit that he has to go through on a daily basis.

Circling the Astronomy Tower, he looks up overhead into the night sky. The days get darker earlier now so he’s able to stargaze more often. There’s something about staring up into the big night sky that centers him and puts things into perspective.

It calms him.

The fresh air cools his lungs as he inhales and his gaze continues to fixate upwards. He spots Pegasus first and then, Lyra -- one of his favorite constellations. Vega, the brightest star in the northern constellation, shines brilliantly tonight. The star is considered to be the North Star of the past because of how bright it is -- so bright that most ancient muggle cultures all have mythology surrounding it.

His North Star, however, is not Vega. It’s something -- someone -- else entirely.

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	4. The Golden Snitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I rewatch Oliver Wood play as Keeper to write the Quidditch scenes? Why yes, yes I did. A lot of this is inspired by his excellent playwork. Also, had to give a shout out to canon and “Beloved” by Toni Morrison. 
> 
> You already know the biggest thanks go to my love, Jana ([latenightcoffeetalks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightcoffeetalks/pseuds/latenightcoffeetalks)) for editing and being the most wonderful support system ever.
> 
> Thanks to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for this STUNNING header in Slytherin green!!! Ahhhhhhh it's so perfect!!!!

__

_So you say you've never been in love?_  
_That you don't even know what that means_  
_Open your heart, open your mind_  
_Girl, you're gonna take me back to a time when I loved and I meant it_  
_Girl, you're gonna save me,_  
_Give me a chance, it's worth taking_

_“Girl” by Jukebox the Ghost_

_**Four: The Golden Snitch** _

It’s the first Quidditch match of the academic year and unsurprisingly, it’s Gryffindor vs. Slytherin.

It’s windy and chilly outside -- much too blustery for her preference. Betty tugs her hair out of its usual ponytail and brushes it, deciding to wear it down today with a green and silver headband. She wraps a similar colored scarf around her neck over her sweater and robes.

She gives Voltaire a quick pat to the head as a sign of goodbye. He doesn’t lift his head but trills at the touch, as if saying goodbye himself. Descending the stairway, she’s not surprised when she finds the shared Heads Common Room is empty. She’s sure Jughead has been outside practicing with the Gryffindor team since early this morning.

Sporting events are not usually her cup of tea -- too many screaming and excited individuals crammed into an entirely all too small space. But something about this match compels her to go. She tells herself it’s because Veronica and Josie hounded her endlessly last night about it at dinner.

It’s definitely not because she wants to go and cheer Jughead on, secretly and only in her mind, never out loud. No, that would be ridiculous. And even if she were going to go to this match to cheer Jughead on, it would only be because she’s trying to improve inter-house relationships and set an excellent example as Head Girl.

It’s not because he looks so dashing on his broom, incredibly alluring with his hard, muscular thighs gripping the wood between his legs. It’s also not because she’s finding herself more and more drawn to him lately. Especially when he returns from flying with pink stained cheeks from the wind and a tumble of messy hair.

What is happening? Okay, so yes, he may be devastatingly attractive -- who cares? It’s not like he’s the only wizard she’s met at Hogwarts that is ridiculously good-looking with a crooked smile that never fails to disarm her and the most piercing, stunning blue eyes. He’s nice to look at. There are plenty of other nice options out there that are also equally nice to look at.

She shakes her head furiously as she walks towards the dungeons to meet her housemates, tightening the scarf around her neck. Her quick steps pitter patter against the stone ground and she desperately tries to focus her thoughts on anything else except Jughead.

She absolutely refuses to be one of those girls -- the ones in his fanclub. Betty Cooper is better than that.

With renewed determination, she nods to herself as she approaches a group of Slytherins. She spots Veronica and Josie to the side and walks up to the pair.

“Ooooo!” Veronica squeals as she skips up to Betty, running her hands through her best friend’s blonde hair. “Your hair looks so good down, Bettykins.”

“Thanks,” Betty replies with a bright smile. Idly, she plays with it and brushes a few stray strands out of her face as she joins the group that started to walk towards the pitch. “I have confidence in our team this year. I really think we might win the House Cup.”

“It’d be a nice change of pace, wouldn’t it?” Veronica surmises.

“It’s getting tedious at this point,” Josie interjects, annoyance clear in her voice. “They’ve won for how many years in a row now? Absolutely ridiculous.”

“They’ve won because they’ve had the best team all these years. Now, we do,” Veronica declares decisively. “Sweet Pea will lead us to victory.”

Josie raises an eyebrow, an amused smile on her face. “You have a lot of faith in him.”

“I agree, V,” Betty says. “I don’t know much about Quidditch but even I can see he’s really whipping the team into shape this year.”

Veronica raises her own eyebrow and nods at Betty, the gestures emphasizing her best friend’s point. “Completely agreed,” she says as she laces her arm through Betty’s.

“Right, like it has nothing to do with your obsession with tall, dark and handsome Quidditch players?” Josie teases with a glint in her deep brown eyes.

“They’re good with their hands,” Veronica whispers to her friends before they all break out into giggles.

The three approach the stands and start to climb them one by one to their designated section. They manage to grab the front row bench to the side with an excellent view of the field. Kevin, their honorary Slytherin friend, joins them after a few minutes, plopping himself down next to Veronica. Sitting between her best friends, Betty rubs her hands together and blows hot air into her palms. It does little to warm her up though.

The wind continues to whip around them. Betty tightens her scarf and ducks her head into it so the wool covers most of her face with only her eyes peeking out. Josie notices her trembling friend and wraps her arms around her, rubbing her arms to generate more heat. Betty thanks her, giving her a bright smile.

They watch the players fly around the field, Veronica, Josie and Kevin with eager interest while Betty tries to look anywhere but at the Gryffindor Keeper. It’s hard not to. Especially not with all the screaming girls that are fawning over him. The usual suspects are there: Trula Twyst, Ethel Muggs and Ava Prewett.

 _They’re not even playing right now!_ , Betty thinks in annoyance.

Most of the players are currently warming up. On the Gryffindor side, she sees Reggie and Munroe throwing and hitting a quaffle at one another. Reggie seems to be motioning for him to use less force. Betty turns towards the Slytherins, watching Aldrich Nott and Sweet Pea doing similar exercises as they are the House’s beaters. Alessia Zabini weaves in and out through the air. Betty thinks she has a good chance of beating Archie Andrews and stealing the snitch from right out under his nose.

So entranced with the players practicing and staring off into the distance, she doesn’t notice him until Josie nudges her in the side and she observes the large shadow cast over her.

Betty looks up, her green eyes colored with surprise when she sees Jughead hovering on his broom, a few feet away from her.

“Are you going to wish me luck, Polaris?” he asks, the charming smile seemingly affixed to his face.

Josie and Veronica’s mouths drop open and Kevin watches with an amused expression, while Betty straightens her spine, recovering and hoping that she’s hiding her shock well.

“You’ll need it today, won’t you? Our team is so close to victory already,” she retorts, deftly ignoring answering his question.

Jughead’s grin deepens and the entire pitch, crowd and players included, hears Madame Hooch’s whistle signifying that the teams should gather for the start of the match. He undoes the yellow and red scarf from his neck and tosses it at her. She can only react to the sudden movement, catching it.

“Don’t get cold now,” he tells her with a wink. And then he flies away.

“Did he just give you his scarf?” Kevin asks excitedly.

“Well, if that’s not declaring your intentions, I don’t know what is,” Veronica comments, a perfectly shaped eyebrow arched.

Betty ignores her friends’ incessant teasing, trying to convince them to focus on the game that’s about to start. When she’s sure they’re no longer looking at her, she looks down at the scarf and holds it a little closer. The scarf smells like grass, oak, and sandalwood. She’s not quite sure what to do with it. She can’t very well give it back to him now that he’s all the way at the bottom of the field with the rest of his teammates. So instead, she folds it over her lap, begrudgingly admitting that it does warm her up a bit. The intense loathing gazes from his fanclub probes her questioningly but she ignores it all.

Instead, she focuses on the game and the magnificent way that Jughead Jones flies through the air.

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Betty’s lost track of how much time has passed since the match started. As of now, Gryffindor leads Slytherin 60 to 20 but the game is still up in the air. Alessia and Archie whiz through the air, mere feet away from one another as they chase after the elusive snitch. Betty doesn’t really pay much attention to the seekers, though -- her gaze is fixed on the rest of the game.

Munroe Moore blazes through the sky, hitting the bludgers left and right with such force that the Slytherin team can only duck and avoid the hits rather than trying to return them. Every so often, Betty sees Sweet Pea commandingly yell at his team, telling them to return to their original formation. It’s not that the Slytherins haven’t made the shots -- they certainly have, almost every few minutes at this point.

The issue is that Jughead Jones is an excellent Keeper and he’s barely letting anything through. Betty watches in amazement as she sees him dart back and forth between the goalposts, a blur of red and yellow, ensuring that he has them all covered. She’s seen him play before a handful of times and she’s always known that he’s talented.

Today, it’s beyond talent. He’s just simply unstoppable.

It’s like he’s driven by something -- some innate push that forces him to play harder and block faster. She doesn’t even realize that she’s holding her breath as she watches him flit gracefully through the air. The crowd begins cheering and screaming when Emily Davis, one of the Slytherin Chasers, starts to advance. She holds the quaffle close to her side as she bursts through the crowd of flying players left and right before she whips the ball towards the leftmost hoop.

Jughead sees the attack coming and smacks the quaffle to the ground with the far end of his broom whilst doing an impressive back flip in the air. Even from this distance, Betty can see the playful grin on his face as he wags his finger back and forth at Emily. Emily simply rolls her eyes and flies back towards Sweet Pea to work on their next play.

“Ooh, close call by Emily Davis, Slytherin Chaser. Jones, you better watch your back. I think she’s coming for you,” the announcer, Damien Jordan teases.

Betty exhales deeply and pulls the red and yellow scarf -- his scarf -- closer to her, practically wringing it through her hands as she watches the game nervously. She was so sure that the Slytherin team was fantastic this year and that they’d easily topple the Gryffindor team. And it’s true, the Slytherin team is really good except Jughead is just a really, really great Keeper.

“Alessia Zabini has spotted the golden snitch. She dives. And oop, looks like Archie Andrews has spotted it as well and now they’re neck and neck, racing towards the prize,” Damien continues to narrate.

Betty bites her lip and grabs onto Josie’s and Veronica’s hands, bouncing them up and down in her lap, as she watches, nerves on edge. She can barely see the snitch from here, just Alessia and Archie’s bodies in a haze of red, yellow, green, and silver. Alessia makes a dive and Archie skids to a stop, not wanting to run into the giant pillar.

“Alessia Zabini has caught the snitch! Slytherin wins 170 to 60!”

The four friends jump up and down, screaming and cheering as they celebrate the overwhelming victory. Adrenaline rushes through her entire body. Veronica envelops Betty in a hug and they sway back and forth together. After a few moments, Betty breaks away and claps excitedly.

It’s Slytherin’s first victory over Gryffindor in decades. This is monumental.

When Betty turns her attention back to the field and to the players, she sees Jughead still hovering next to the Gryffindor goalposts. He doesn’t look disappointed at all that his team has lost. If anything, he seems to be clapping wholeheartedly, as if he’s cheering the Slytherin team on to their victory.

He turns and their eyes meet. She dares to hold his gaze for only a few seconds before she moves to exit the stands. All the while, the memory of his spirited blue eyes dancing in the forefront of her mind.

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It’s the first big party of the year and the Slytherins are thrilled that they’re the ones that are throwing the inaugural bash. Tonight, Betty takes off her Head Girl badge and symbolically decides that she won’t be attending to her usual responsibilities tonight and instead, have fun and celebrate with the rest of her House.

She decides to go with muggle clothing for the festivities, dressed in tight black jeans and a satiny dark green blouse. Her hair is pulled back halfway in silver barrettes and she wears comfortable black ballet flats. Veronica had wanted to do her face in full makeup but Betty only let her work her magic on her eyes before she swatted her best friend away, convinced that it was too much.

The bass pounds through the castle dungeons. Betty winds her way through the crowd as she enters the Slytherin Common Room, making a beeline for the drinks. She grabs a butterbeer and feels an arm wind around her waist. Just as she’s about to slap the daring individual away, she hears Kevin’s familiar voice in her ear.

“I still can’t believe you guys pulled it off,” Kevin says with a wide grin, smelling like the distinct scent of firewhisky.

He’s one of the few non-Slytherin students present but Betty’s not entirely surprised because Kevin is a social butterfly, attending each and every party and function. If there’s something fun happening at Hogwarts, Kevin Keller will be there.

“I knew we could,” she replies before she takes a sip of her drink.

“Sweet Pea played like a man possessed. I’ve never seen someone so relentless for victory,” Kevin says as he sips his firewhisky, his eyes running over said Slytherin Quidditch Captain who is standing a few feet away from them. “Too bad he doesn’t play for my team,” Kevin laments with a lascivious wink.

“I thought you had your eyes set on Fangs Fogarty.”

“I have to keep my options open, don’t I?” Kevin tells her knowingly.

“You’re incorrigible,” she teases.

“I never claimed to be otherwise.”

They chat a bit further to the side, away from the crowd. In the middle of the common room, Veronica and Josie dance to the music filtering through the air. Betty and Kevin wave at the duo and Veronica gestures for them to join on the dance floor. Betty shakes her head furiously, dancing has never been her strong suit but Kevin doesn’t care. He forces a shot of firewhisky into her hands and they shoot them back before he drags her unwillingly to the rest of their friends.

It takes her a few songs to get acclimated but eventually, the alcohol kicks in and her mind stops running at a million miles an hour and she lets the beat overtake her. Raising her hands into the air, her top rides up a bit to expose her toned midriff. She dances along to the song, some catchy beat with a lustrous, smoky-voiced singer. Veronica grinds up against her and Betty wraps her arms around her, dancing along.

As the song pounds on, Sebastian Pucey, a 7th Year Slytherin approaches them with a wide grin, a lecherous look on his face as he watches them dance creepily and unapologetically.

“Ladies,” he says over the loud music. “May I join you?”

Without waiting for a response, he moves to wrap his thick arm around Betty but she sidesteps him with a warning look. Veronica glares at him furiously and is about to jump in when Betty shakes her head once, signalling to her best friend that she has the situation handled.

“You look absolutely delectable tonight, Cooper. Mind giving me a taste?” he asks, his tone laced with suggestion.

“Such a pretty face, you have, Sebastian. It’d be a shame if I hexed it,” she bites out, her green eyes gleaming with intent, her hand curling around her wand.

“Ooo, the kitten has claws,” he returns as he moves forward once again, mere centimeters away from her when his entire body suddenly flies back through the crowd. Sebastian hits the stone wall and crumples to the ground, groaning.

Betty hears Veronica’s gasp and Josie utter out a “what the fuck” first. Then, she spots him.

Jughead Jones stands a few feet away from them, his blue eyes ablaze with his hand wrapped around his wand. The veins in his hand bulge and pulse as the air around him crackles with intensity. His jaw ticks and she can almost hear the sound of his molars grinding from this distance. The music screeches to a stop and no one dares utter a single word to break the silence. They all just stare at him and then at her, their gazes flickering between their bodies.

“What the hell is this?” Sweet Pea roars after a few moments, pushing his way to the front. The crowd separates for him immediately, everyone knowing better than trying to stop him. His reputation as a force to be reckoned with precedes him.

Reggie pushes Jughead back and shakes his head, the two friends having an unspoken conversation as they stare off at one another. Jughead is still fuming and it’s almost like he has smoke billowing from his ears before he begrudgingly steps to the side, letting Reggie take over.

“We are just here to celebrate. No harm, no foul,” Reggie says diplomatically.

“No foul?” Sweet Pea spits out, rising to his full 6 foot plus height, towering menacingly over Reggie. “My Chaser probably has a concussion because you arseholes decided to crash our party and start assaulting people.”

“He was touching her,” Jughead bites out. His harsh voice is quiet but with how silent the room is, everyone hears him anyways.

Reggie looks back at Jughead again and shakes his head, another warning sign signalling for him to shut up and stay quiet. He turns back towards Sweet Pea with a charming smile plastered on his face.

“Our apologies. We didn’t mean to offend. Let’s get back to celebrating the winning team, shall we?” Reggie suggests with a clap of his hands.

The music starts back up but Sweet Pea remains fixed to where he is, glaring at the band of Gryffindors.

“This victory meant something to us and I don’t need you or your gang of idiots messing this up,” Sweet Pea grits out, his fists clenching.

“You won on a technicality,” Gabriel Sloper says with a smirk, suddenly appearing as he separates himself from the group.

Reggie’s eyes flash with annoyance as he motions for Gabriel to stand down and shut up.

“A technicality that’s been in place for 8 centuries? Yeah, okay,” Alessia retorts with a roll of her eyes. She stands next to Sweet Pea with her arms crossed in front of her chest. “I’m a better seeker than Andrews. His reign of victory is over now.”

“You’re right,” Reggie jumps in before any of his team can say anything. “The most deserving team won today.”

“If you can’t behave, you and your thugs need to leave,” Sweet Pea warns.

“Thugs?” Archie asks, his face as red as his hair.

“That’s enough.” Jughead steps between Sweet Pea and Reggie and puts his hand on Reggie’s shoulder, squeezing it. “That’s enough for tonight.”

Archie opens his mouth to retort, his fragile ego bruised, but Jughead shoves his arm into Archie’s, effectively shutting him up.

Reggie shakes his head in disappointment and lets out a sigh. “We’ll leave.” He signals to the group of Gryffindors to vacate the premises.

Just as they’re about to trickle out, Jughead turns back one last time, meeting Betty’s eyes. She stares at him in annoyance and disbelief. Something that looks a little like regret flickers in his eyes. Then he disappears through the dungeon doors.

“Way too much excitement for one evening,” Josie comments wryly.

“Pucey deserved it,” Veronica seethes, still glaring at the blonde Chaser who seems all too pleased that a few girls have surrounded him to fret over his injuries.

“Where did Jughead even come from? Pretty stupid of the Gryffindors to try and crash this,” Kevin says.

“Let’s forget about them,” Betty says decisively. “Don’t let them ruin this night.”

They all nod in agreement, knowing she’s right. Veronica excuses herself to go talk to Sweet Pea and Josie follows along with her. Kevin hooks his arm around Betty’s elbow and steers her towards the table of alcohol to fix them both another drink. Betty settles for a butterbeer, taking slow sips. Kevin still has an amused look on his face and she already knows she’s not going to like what he’s about to say.

“What?”

“It was kinda hot, you know. Jughead stepping in there to protect your honor like that.”

“I don’t need anybody to protect me,” she replies matter-of-factly.

“We could all use someone to protect us like that,” Kevin says, disagreeing.

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Several hours later, after a considerable number more drinks, Betty returns to her dormitory, happily buzzed, stupid altercations and idiotic boys long forgotten. She slurs out the password and enters the common room, stumbling back in surprise when she sees Jughead sitting on the couch, fingers laced together as he stares off into the roaring fire.

She moves to head back to her room, deciding to ignore him when his voice stops her steps.

“Are you okay?” he asks, concern evident in his tone.

“I’m fine,” she dismisses immediately, waving her hand around to emphasize her words.

“I was worried.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m perfectly capable,” she says, taking a few more steps towards the staircase.

“Are you mad at me?” He sounds perplexed.

Betty lets out a heavy sigh, her gaze fixed upwards at the ceiling. She curls her fingertips into her palms for a moment before she turns to face him. The alcohol seems to be fueling her frustration.

“You don’t think I have a right to be? You were a brute,” she says, completely exasperated.

“I was trying to defend you!”

Her eyes flare with annoyance. “Did you ever think that maybe I don’t need your defending, Jughead? I had it handled. Your excessive testosterone and violence were not necessary.”

“Excessive-” he starts to say before he trails off. His expression is dismayed as he pauses for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek as if to calm himself and prevent himself from saying anything rash.

He’s silent and after waiting a bit for him to say something to redeem himself, Betty shakes her head and starts walking towards her private staircase. She pauses when she passes the couch, seeing his red and gold scarf draped over the arm. She had meant to return it to him tonight.

“Here,” she says, holding the scarf out.

He doesn’t make a move to grab it from her. “Keep it.”

She furrows her brows and thinks about saying something but chooses not to. Instead, she drops the scarf back onto the couch and turns away in the direction of her room. She’s too tired to start another argument with him tonight.

“I couldn’t just stand there and watch him harass you like that. No one should ever put their hands on you uninvited. He’s filth and I won’t apologize for my actions when he fully deserved them.” The pure conviction in his voice is undeniable.

Betty turns slightly to look at him, her green eyes softening. “I can fight my own battles,” she tells him quietly.

“I know you can. But it doesn’t mean I won’t want to help you when I can. I-” he pauses, jaw clenched as he debates his next words. “I care about you.”

Biting her lower lip, she looks down, a bundle of conflicting emotions. Her heart twinges at his words but she doesn’t want to analyze what they mean tonight. She’s drunk and tired. All she wants is sleep. Turning on her heel, she whispers, “Good night, Jug.” She starts to climb the stairs without waiting for a response, feeling his gaze bore into her back with every step.

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The next day, Hogwarts is aflutter with gossip and all anyone’s talking about is the way that Jughead Jones crashed the Slytherin party and hexed a guy, throwing him into the wall and cursing him when they tried to make a move on Betty Cooper. The stories get more and more outrageous and embellished as the day goes on. First, it’s one guy and then it’s three, then five. By fifth period, she hears that apparently, Jughead used an Unforgivable in front of a crowd and _Crucio’ed_ the guy for hitting on his beloved.

That’s what they’re calling her now -- his beloved.

It seems like everywhere Betty walks, she’s met with whispering and students gawking and pointing at her. She’s not used to this much attention and she hates every bit of it. She hates being the center of the juiciest piece of gossip floating around today. Everyone is taking part in spreading it. Jughead Jones -- the heir to the Jones fortune, someone who’s never been interested in anyone else at Hogwarts before, boldly declared his intentions and affections.

It’s absolutely ridiculous.

They’re friends. He stepped in and defended her because he had the absurd notion that she couldn’t do it herself. He’d do it for any friend. All these flagrant lies are rooted in falsehood and misconception.

Betty holds her head up high as she walks through the hallways, refusing to give into these people and cower. She’s better than that. As she passes by the Great Hall, a group of girls surround her.

“Is it true?” Trula demands, her eyes wide and frantic.

“Did he really declare his affection for you in front of an entire crowd and attack that guy for hitting on you?” Ava Prewett adds on.

Annoyed, Betty shakes out of their grasps. “I do not indulge in baseless rumors,” she says, her tone sharp and biting. “I suggest you do the same unless you’d like points deducted. Now, get to class and do something useful with your time.”

They immediately back off. Ethel, who has been unusually quiet, pulls Trula and Ava away, scampering when they see the fire in Betty’s eyes.

Classes are over and originally, she had planned on studying in the library for a few hours but with all the frustration bubbling within her, she knows it’s pointless. She’ll never be able to concentrate.

Instead, she heads to the Room of Requirement to train and hex a few things.

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Betty’s muscles are pleasantly sore as she dips into the bath in the Prefects’ bathroom. She has her own private bathroom in her quarters but the Prefect’s bathroom is so much bigger and more luxurious. After all the incessant prying and rumors she’s had to deal with today, she figures she deserves it.

Lavender scented bubbles surround her and she rests her head against the tile, relishing in the way the warm water relaxes her and lifts her mood. She stays in the bath until her fingertips get pruney, only leaving because she has a pile of homework that she knows she has to attend to.

She hasn’t seen Jughead since last night, mostly because she’s been avoiding him. His words ring through her mind: _It doesn’t mean I won’t want to help you when I can. I care about you._

It would be so easy to let her thoughts devolve and overanalyze his words but there is no reason to indulge in such frivolous actions. Someone like him, a Pureblood and an heir, would never pursue someone like her in a romantic sense. Sure, they interact on a regular basis at Hogwarts, but afterwards, he's in the stratosphere and she's very firmly on Earth.

She towels off and dries her hair with a heating charm. Her blonde hair falls in natural waves around her face as she gets dressed.

It’s well into dinner time when she heads to her dormitory, likely a safe time as Jughead should be in the Great Hall eating. When she steps through the door, she senses his presence immediately. She smells the familiar scent of freshly cut grass and his cologne as she steps into the common room.

She gives him a quick nod of acknowledgment but he doesn’t let her get away that easily.

“You’re still angry with me?”

Her eyes dart towards the fire that’s heating up the room. She hitches up a shoulder and pastes an apathetic look on her face.

“Do I have a reason to be?” she returns.

He lets out a light laugh at this, shaking his head as if saying, he should’ve expected this from her -- answering a question with a question.

“I’m sorry for what everyone’s been saying today. I know it can get taxing.”

His tone is genuine. She shrugs again before she flops onto the couch next to him.

“None of it is even true,” she mutters. She leans her head back against the cushion. “How do you deal with it all the time?”

“I’ve gotten used to it. People have been gossiping and speculating about me since the day I was born.”

“Isn’t it exhausting?” she asks curiously.

“Incredibly exhausting,” he admits. “But at the same time, think of all the influence and power someone in my position will afford in the future. People actually listen to me when I speak. What I have to say holds weight. The gossip does come along with a certain amount of respect. It’s a small price to pay for being a Jones.”

“I don’t think I would be able to withstand it, all those gossips and rumors. It’s barely been 24 hours and I’m already tired,” she tells him honestly.

“I’d protect you.”

“I thought we already established how I feel about that,” she teases him.

He smiles back wryly. They both sit in comfortable silence before he interrupts it after a few minutes. “I’m sorry you had to go through that today. I’m sure it was jarring.”

“All the stronger for it, I suppose.”

“It’ll pass,” he promises.

She nods though she’s not sure she actually believes him.

Instead of retreating to her room that night, she decides to study alongside him in the common room. It seems to be their way of signaling a truce. Studying together has become a new routine for them and it’s been surprisingly pleasant. They think in complementary ways and when she shares her ideas and questions with Jughead, he challenges her by giving her alternate perspectives and ways of answering a problem.

He makes her think in ways that she’s never done before and it’s refreshing.

It’s late in the evening when she finally gathers her things that night, getting ready to head to bed.

As Betty’s stuffing her papers into her bag, he asks her, “Are we okay?”

“We are,” she answers honestly, her eyes clear and bright. She smiles at him and offers a “good night” before she heads to bed.

Her dreams that evening are haunted by azure eyes and an unwavering magnetic smile.

The next day, the gossiping stops, almost suddenly.

Betty’s not sure if Jughead had anything to do with it but it seems like the students are almost scared to bother her, too intimidated by the prospect.

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	5. Lumos Maxima - Bright Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has everyone been keeping track of all the hints? A few big ones have been dropped already as we build up to the mystery.
> 
> You already know the drill. The biggest thank you goes to Jana ([latenightcoffeetalks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightcoffeetalks/pseuds/latenightcoffeetalks)) for reading this over and making me laugh with all her AHHH comments. Love you always!!!
> 
> Also, another gigantic thank you to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for this GORGEOUS header. Ahhhhhh it's so perfect. I am constantly in awe of your talent.

_I'll make the moon shine just for your view_  
_I'll make the starlight circle the room_  
_And if you feel like night is falling_  
_I wanna be the one you're calling_  
_'Cause I believe that you could lead the way_  
_I just wanna be somebody to someone_  
_And if the sun's upset and the sky goes cold_  
_Then if the clouds get heavy and start to fall_  
_I really need somebody to call my own_  
_I wanna be somebody to someone_  
_Someone to you_

_"Someone to You" by Banners_

_**Five: Lumos Maxima - Bright Light** _

The Friday the week before the Fall Ball, Betty wakes up bright and early, ready to tackle the day. There are a few last minute things that she needs to wrap up on before the big event. Getting dressed quickly, she pulls her hair into a loose ponytail and ties it with a green and silver ribbon.

It’s still pretty early in the day and given that it’s fall in Northern Scotland; the sun has just barely risen above the horizon. Its rays desperately try to poke through the clouds but it barely succeeds. Like many other days recently, it’s still dreary and gloomy out. Betty gathers the letters that she wrote last night -- one to her parents and a few others to confirm the last minute details of the ball to various vendors -- and walks towards the Owlery. The room sits atop the West Tower of the castle. She doesn’t frequent it often -- only when she needs to send correspondence.

Hogwarts is quiet this morning.

Her quick steps against the stone ground echo through the hallways as she makes the way from her quarters to the tower. During moments like this, she truly grasps the feeling that she’s living and attending school in a building that has been standing for centuries. Something about the quietness makes her consider the gravitas the castle holds. Scholars say that Hogwarts was built in the Early Middle Ages. Its walls contain so much history. The castle has witnessed so much passing through its corridors.

As Betty ascends the staircase to the Owlery, she’s jolted out of her thoughts by the sound of wind whipping. She ducks towards the back corner of the staircase and peers out the open window. Someone’s flying around the tower, almost like they’re practicing. They zig zag through the air, winding through invisible posts. At one point, they do an impressive back flip, their body and broom making a full circle. They pause for a moment, almost as if they sensed she was watching them.

The figure turns around and very clearly, she sees the profile of their face. Betty forces herself to continue climbing the steps until she reaches the school’s designated owls and sends them off with the letters. As she feeds a fuzzy owl a cracker, she wonders -- why is Jughead Jones up so early and flying?

He’s said to her before that he flies to clear his thoughts. Is something bothering him?

Why does she care?

She stops her own thoughts. She cares because they’re friends -- just friends. Satisfied with her own excuse, she decides to head straight for the library to get some studying done before classes start.

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That weekend, Betty, Josie, Veronica and Kevin all find themselves in Madame Malkin’s, shopping for their outfits for the ball. One of the shop assistants measures Kevin to get the right fit for his dress robes. Josie, Veronica and Betty peruse the different gown selections.

Betty runs her fingers along all the different fabrics, taking in all the sumptuous colors and careful details. There’s one gown that stands out in particular. It’s a floor length dress composed of silver chiffon that starts dark at the bottom and fades lighter and lighter as it hits the top, creating a beautiful ombre effect. The sleeves and neckline are a see-through delicate mesh and there’s lace detailing of flowers throughout the entire dress.

She doesn’t like the word perfect but if there’s any dress that could ever be described as such, this one would be pretty close.

Betty pulls it off the rack, holding it by the hanger and examines it, lost in the way the fabric shimmers with every movement against the light.

A gasp from behind her startles her. “It’s perfect for you!” Veronica proclaims as she runs her hands against the fabric. “You have to try it on.”

She nods, agreeing and murmurs mostly to herself. “It’s beautiful.”

Towards the back of the store, there are a few open dressing rooms. She pops into one. With a quick swish of her wand, her current clothes fall off her body and hang themselves on the designated hook in the dressing room. After another flick, she slips the dress on and charms the zipper up her back. Pulling the privacy curtain, she steps out into the shop, moving her hips so that the dress swishes around her body back and forth.

“Oh Betty, this is definitely the one. It’s stunning!” Kevin calls out and shoves his hand into the air with a thumbs up. The seamstress slaps his arm down, berating him for moving while she’s trying to take measurements. He scoffs, offended at her actions.

Veronica and Josie both rush to her side, oohing and ahhing at the dress, playing with the fabric and Betty’s hair.

“You have to do it up,” Josie declares as she runs her fingers through Betty’s luscious locks. She lifts the strands up so that the nape of her neck is exposed. “Maybe a loose chignon?”

“Oh and I have the perfect heels to go with this dress,” Veronica adds as she fusses with the skirt of the dress. “You look like a princess, B.”

“I feel like one,” Betty responds with a bright smile. “I think this is it.”

After a few more minutes of Josie, Veronica, and Kevin (from a distance) gushing at her, Betty pops back into the dressing room to change back into her regular clothes. As she’s slipping out of her dress, she thinks she hears hushed conversation.

“He’s going to go nuts.” Veronica.

“Maybe he’ll finally make a move. Boy’s got it bad.” Josie.

Betty shoves the curtains aside after she’s fully dressed and steps out with a curious expression. “What are we talking about?”

“Uhh,” Josie starts to say at the same time that Veronica interrupts.

“We were thinking we should go get some mulled mead at the Three Broomsticks,” Veronica suggests.

“Sure, that sounds great,” Betty replies, looking between the two women in slight confusion.

They launch into a discussion of the gowns they decided on and Betty doesn’t dwell on their strange behavior any further, getting lost in the conversation about their selected attire.

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The Three Broomsticks is bustling with a mix of clientele but the Hogwarts students dominate the majority. Betty follows after Kevin as he winds his way through the crowd, surprisingly finding a table near the back. Veronica pops over to the bar to say hi to Madame Rosmerta and returns after a quick greeting.

The four friends slide into their chairs, quickly placing their order, knowing exactly what they want, having memorized the tavern’s menu at this point. Their drinks arrive soon after and the friends chat about a variety of topics before eventually, Veronica steers them to a line of conversation she’s been dying to talk to Betty about.

“So what happened after the Slytherin party? I’m assuming you and Jughead talked about his rather public display of his intentions,” Veronica asks, not even bothering to keep the curiosity out of her tone.

Betty rolls her eyes at this. “It was fine. We talked that night and I told him to stop being a brute.”

“I thought it was kind of hot,” Kevin comments with a grin.

“Agreed,” Veronica replies.

“Were feelings finally confessed?” Josie asks with interest, leaning forward across the table.

“What feelings?”

Kevin shoots Josie and Veronica a look and the friends all sigh in disappointment.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Kevin mutters.

“What feelings?” Betty repeats.

“Jughead’s feelings for you, obviously,” Veronica says calmly.

Betty’s eyes widen almost comically at this. “Jughead doesn’t-”

“You really haven’t noticed the way he looks at you, like you’re everything he’s ever wanted?” Josie asks.

“Or like the way I look at Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelors list,” Kevin jokes.

Veronica and Josie laugh lightly at this while Betty remains serious.

“He doesn’t-” Betty tries again before she stops herself and starts to stare intensely into her pint of butterbeer. “Does he?”

It’s the first time that she’s ever even considered this -- that he might have a genuine romantic interest in her.

“Yes,” they all echo in a chorus before her friends burst out in giggles at their synchronized speaking.

Betty remains speechless, hands clasped together in front of her on the table, her drink long forgotten. She thinks about all the times they’ve spent together this academic year, sitting in their common room, studying and talking about anything and everything. She thinks about the way he invited her to a Gryffindor picnic and spent most of his time teaching her how to perfect a spell when he could’ve spent his time chatting with his friends. She thinks about all the times that his fanclub approached him, practically throwing themselves at him, but he showed no interest whatsoever. She thinks about the scarf he gave her when he noticed she was cold. She thinks about how he threw Sebastian Pucey against a wall and was adamant about defending her. She thinks about how the gossiping about her and Jughead immediately stopped after she talked to him about it.

Had she just been blind all this time?

She wasn’t stupid. Of course, she noticed the increase in his attention towards her this academic year but naturally, she just assumed that was because of their mutual titles as Head Boy and Head Girl and the increased amount of time that they were forced to spend together.

She thought the reason why he acted the way he did was because of their friendship, because they are friends, right? Aren’t they just friends?

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Josie asks, drawing Betty out of her thoughts.

“I’m-” she pauses for a moment, trying to find the right word, “processing.”

“What’s there to process? Jughead Jones, one of the most eligible bachelors at Hogwarts and in the entire Wizarding community, is interested in hopping aboard the Betty Cooper Express. Sounds straightforward to me,” Kevin says decisively.

Josie snorts out loud at this description. Veronica reaches her hand out across the table and squeezes Betty’s fingers.

“B, do you like him?” Veronica asks.

“Of course, I like him,” she answers automatically. Betty bites her lower lip and looks down, suddenly extremely interested in hers and Veronica’s clasped hands. “As a friend for sure. As anything else, I don’t know. I mean, at the beginning of this year, I just thought he loved to tease and annoy me. I guess I’ve never really let myself think about it seriously. I mean, he’s Jughead Jones. Yes, he’s nice to look at but his reputation and name precedes him. I never imagined myself with someone like that. I always thought one day I’d meet a nice wizard or muggle, settle down, and have a nice quiet life.”

“And you couldn’t have that with Jughead?” Josie asks curiously.

“Just look at what happened with the fight. Everyone was talking about that the next day. I don’t want that type of attention,” Betty insists.

“You’re not meant to live a quiet, boring life, my dear,” Kevin tells her. He looks at her intently. “You’d never want that anyway, not really. Your goal in life is to be an Unspeakable. That’s one of the most prestigious positions at the Ministry, even more so than an Auror or a Cursebreaker. You were always meant for greatness. Embrace it.”

“Then I don’t want to become an afterthought,” Betty says, not letting this go. “Being with Jughead Jones means just that, I would become his significant other and everyone would just think of me as an appendage of his. I don’t want that.”

“Why all this negativity? You just realized that he was interested in you about three minutes ago and all of a sudden, you think your hypothetical relationship is already doomed?” Veronica asks.

“I-” Betty snaps her mouth shut, not able to formulate the right response to that. She needs to think. This entire conversation makes her uncomfortable and she needs to hide somewhere, completely alone with her thoughts. Hurriedly, she gets up out of her chair, her body slamming clumsily against the edge of the table. A bit of her butterbeer sloshes over the side of the stein. She fishes a galleon out of her purse and tosses it onto the table, the gold clanging against the wood.

“I should go,” she says in a rush.

Her friends watch her with concern and make an effort to stop her, to tag along with her on her walk back to Hogwarts, but she doesn’t listen. She simply leaves the bar with quick, frenzied steps, desperately needing to think.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

She goes to the Black Lake.

There’s something about the water, the forest, and the overall ambiance of the surroundings that infuse a sense of calm into her. She slips out of her robe and pulls her pant legs up as she walks into the water. It’s practically freezing but she doesn’t care. The water immerses her up to her knees, the coolness washing over her, numbing her nerves and her senses.

She points her wand into the sky. _Lumos Maxima_ , she thinks.

A stream of bright light flashes from her wand, bathing her immediate surroundings in a warm glow. Then it fades after a few prolonged moments. She grips her wand tighter and grits her teeth, thinking, _Lumos Maxima_.

It creates the same effect, the light dimming after a few seconds. She thinks about the way Jughead places his hand at the small of her back when he leads her somewhere, to class or otherwise. She thinks about how he helped her perfect her nonverbal water charm.

_Lumos Maxima!_

The light beam extends further this time and when she points her wand, it’s almost as if she’s shooting and directing the ray of light. It fades and she’s once again plunged into the darkness as the sun dips below the horizon and night embarks.

She remembers the way that she begrudgingly danced with him in the classroom, the light effervescent waltz music filtering into her ears. The way that he held her close, his signature scent invading her senses as they glided across the floor. She sticks her forefinger out over the top of her wand as she controls the direction.

_Lumos Maxima!_

A wide, flat ray of light shoots out of her wand and her left hand immediately comes up to her eyes as she has to shield herself away from the gleam. It’s so bright and overpowering, seeming to light up the entire sky around her. It takes all the concentration within her to control the beam. It flickers occasionally but it never fades, as bright as it was when she initially cast it. It feels like she’s pouring all her energy into this charm, her wand draining her of all that she has within.

When she’s finally satisfied with the intensity of the light, she ends the charm. “ _Finite Incantatem_.”

The light immediately extinguishes and she’s shrouded in the fading luminosity of the sky above her as the evening starts to settle in.

As the entire world spins on around her, she knows that she will always have magic. Magic will always help her think and sort through her feelings. Magic will always dissipate the fog in her mind.

She needs to stop focusing on everything Jughead may or may not have done in the past few weeks. What she will focus on is how he behaves towards her now that she’s realized he may have romantic feelings towards her. There’s no point analyzing the past. The answers don’t lie there.

Now, she’ll pay closer attention.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Their next prolonged interaction isn’t until Alchemy class on the Monday of the ball. The entire school is abuzz with excitement for the welcome back celebration. Most of what Betty hears as she walks through the hallways is eager discussion about gowns, dress robes, and the much-anticipated performance by the Bent-Winged Snitches.

Betty rounds the corner to walk across the courtyard in front of the Alchemy classroom and feels a hand brush against her school robes. She whips around, hair flying into her face, not at all surprised to see Jughead standing only a foot away from her, his hand just grazing against her robes.

She offers him a small smile in greeting.

“I missed you yesterday,” he tells her. Unconsciously, flutters erupt in her stomach at these words. “I thought we could’ve worked on the Alchemy essay together. I’m not even sure what I wrote made much sense.”

When he finishes his thought, she forcibly tries to push the flutters out of her system. He missed her because he thought they could study together. That’s what friends do -- study together. Point towards the “friends” column.

She recovers after a few moments, trying to ignore his expectant look. “Sorry, I needed to access some books in the Restricted Section so I spent most of my day hiding in the library,” she fibs. It’s not entirely a lie. She did spend most of her day in the library though it was mostly because she wasn’t quite ready to face him yet and wanted more time to gather her thoughts.

“Wow, your essay is probably way better than mine then,” he laments. They continue to walk towards the classroom in comfortable silence. He finally breaks it after a bit. “Did you have a nice time in Hogsmeade?”

Betty clears her throat and cocks her head to the side, taking him in. He really is unfairly handsome. His dark hair -- inky, almost jet black -- is messy, with the typical stray curl falling onto his forehead rebelliously. His blue eyes are twinkling with mirth and he seems perfectly content, a far cry from the inner turmoil currently building up within her as she tries to assess their current interaction. Platonic or romantic? Platonic or romantic?

She repeats the phrase over and over in her head. He nudges her shoulder with his, bumping into it playfully, drawing her back to the present.

“You okay, Polaris?” he asks, concern flashing in his eyes.

 _Refers to me by an endearment, platonic or romantic?_ she thinks. “Fine, sorry, I was just thinking a bit more about my essay and wondering if I should have elaborated more on why I think water is the most powerful element of the four,” she says smoothly. “Also yes, Hogsmeade was lovely. I found my gown!”

“If only it were that complex for men. I wear the same dress robes to every fancy event,” he tells her. “It’s interesting you picked water for the essay. I picked fire.”

“That’s the obvious choice, don’t you think?” she teases as they both walk into the classroom. As always, he holds the door open for her.

He’s polite. The gesture is just good manners. _Platonic._

Jughead steps into the classroom after her and sends her a devilish grin, one perfect eyebrow raised. “What’s wrong with picking the obvious choice?”

She opens her mouth in surprise, not really sure how to respond to that, also slightly disarmed by how handsome he is when he’s like this -- teasing, playful, and charming.

_Maybe not so platonic?_

“Nothing, I suppose,” she finally says after they’re both seated, next to each other, of course.

He flashes her the brightest, victorious grin. The action sends shivers down her spine, all the way down to her toes. She’s had this same reaction to him before but she’s never truly thought about it, not until this moment. Why is she reacting like this to him?

_Shit._

_Maybe not so platonic, after all._

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

On the day of the ball, after classes end, Josie, Veronica, and Kevin rush to Betty’s private quarters, demanding to get ready for the big event in her room. While they all have single rooms, Betty’s is the largest, complete with her own bathroom so it makes the most sense. Betty’s relatively surprised that anybody even went to class today, much less paid attention during them considering how this event is so highly anticipated.

Betty sits at her desk dressed in a dark green silk robe as Josie fusses with her hair. Veronica is already dressed (of course), ever the picture of perfection. Her long raven hair is long and down, pulled back by a diamond barrette -- no doubt real diamonds sprinkled on the bauble. Her deep purple silk gown floats around her as she helps Kevin straighten the bow tie that perfectly matches his black and white dress robes. His outfit is very traditional though his bow tie is yellow, a slight nod towards his house, and also sets him apart from the crowd. It adds a dash of personality that’s perfect for him.

“Ow, do you really need to pull that hard?” Betty asks when Josie tugs her head to the side so she can brush out the kinks.

“Beauty is pain, darling,” Josie replies matter-of-factly clad in a blood red floor-length, skin tight gown that’s decorated with small sparkling jewels. Even the slightest movement causes her entire dress to sparkle. It has a plunging neckline, revealing much of her ample cleavage.

Josie continues to brush Betty’s hair before twisting her blonde locks into a loose chignon. She uses a combination of potions, magic, and muggle hairpins to ensure Betty’s hair stays in place. After a few more minutes of wrangling, Josie steps back with a bright smile, letting Betty view herself in the mirror.

Her hair is arranged up with a few loose strands framing her delicate face. Betty turns towards Josie with a bright, infectious grin. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

“Of course! You look amazing,” Josie replies with a wink.

Betty ducks into her bathroom to switch into her gown, charming the zipper up her back once again. When she steps out back into her bedroom, she rearranges the skirt of the dress before looking up. Her friends all stare at her with expressions mixed from pride to shock.

Veronica recovers first, coming over to grab Betty’s hands, lacing them together. “You look so good. I can’t wait to see the look on Jughead’s face.”

“I-”

“I know, I know,” Veronica replies with a dismissive wave of her hands. “Nothing’s happening. You guys are just friends. Even so, he can’t deny that you look absolutely angelic tonight.”

“Nothing is happening,” Betty emphasizes. “Nor will anything happen. Like I’ve said a million times before.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Kevin agrees to placate her. “Let’s get going! I can’t wait to see and judge everyone’s outfits.”

Josie claps her hands together excitedly before she skips towards the exit, pulling Betty along. “It’s going to be a night to remember,” she promises.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

When Betty enters the Great Hall, she can’t help but let the gasp of awe escape her lips as she steps in. The ceiling has been charmed with floating fairy lights and all the decor is decorated in luscious autumn colors -- deep burnt orange, maroon, and mustard yellow. It’s accented by a dark brown so it feels like she just stepped into the middle of an enchanted forest. She had selected a lot of these decorations so most of it looks familiar but Jughead had insisted that he would take care of actually putting everything together on the final day. She had argued, wanting to help, but he stubbornly ignored her. It's what she gets for attempting to talk down a Gryffindor -- they're notoriously headstrong.

Now, as she’s seeing it all come together for the first time, she’s glad that he had insisted on it because it makes it all the more magical -- completely worth all the work that they had put into organizing this event.

The entire room is bathed in a warm, romantic light from the lights above. Waltz music plays in the background, adding to the ambiance and fanfare. The Bent-Winged Snitches aren’t playing until later in the evening but she finds that she actually likes the current music. It’s whimsical, perfect for a grand affair.

She moves around the room, taking everything in, her green eyes scanning the crowd. Every so often, she readjusts her skirt so that it continually swishes with every sway of her hips. Halfway around the room, she begrudgingly admits to herself that she is looking for one person in particular.

However, he’s nowhere to be found.

She searches the entirety of the Great Hall, getting on her tippy toes, craning her neck to see if she can spot him; but she can’t find Jughead anywhere in the large space. For some reason, the only person that she wants to share this overwhelming successful event with is him. The room is getting crowded, especially the dance floor. Maybe he hasn’t arrived yet even though it seems like the entirety of Hogwarts is currently present.

Kevin finds her in the back corner of the room in the midst of her search, a pretty pout on her face at her lack of success.

“Come dance,” he demands before he tugs on her arm and leads her to the center of the dance floor. He holds her properly and they glide across the dance floor gracefully.

She shakes her head lightly, the stray strands of blonde hair dancing around her face. “You know I hate dancing.”

“I know I’m not as debonair as some of your other suitors but I think I am a worthy replacement,” Kevin teases.

“You can never be a replacement. There’s only one of you,” she says honestly.

Betty lets out a giggle when he twirls and dips her suddenly, her cheeks tinged with pink from the surprise. When he pulls her back up, she smacks his chest gently.

“Incorrigible, as always.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way and you know it,” he replies saucily.

It’s the absolute truth -- she can’t imagine surviving Hogwarts without her best friends at her side. As if she willed them into being, Veronica and Josie join them when the next song begins to play. Betty wraps her arms around Josie’s neck and starts to sway back and forth to the melodic tune. Valerie Brown and Melody Valentine, both 7th Year Hufflepuffs and good friends of Josie's, join them. Surrounded by friends, they dance and dance and dance.

After what seems like the twentieth song, Betty gestures to Veronica and Kevin that she’s getting a drink. She grins when she sees Josie and Sweet Pea gliding across the room to a romantic ballad. Making her way to the refreshments table, she grabs a glass of pumpkin juice and is just about to take a sip when she sees the Headmistress wave her over. Betty hurriedly walks towards her.

“Oh Miss Cooper, this is all quite delightful. Excellent work,” McGonagall compliments, a rare smile gracing her usually stern face.

Betty blushes with happiness. Headmistress McGonagall almost never shows favoritism and very sparsely hands out praise.

“Thank you, Headmistress, though I can’t take all the credit. Jughead was immensely helpful in the planning process and putting it all together.”

“Yes, I am very pleased to hear that Mr. Jones took on his role so readily. I suppose it makes sense especially given how his father seemed to take an interest in this ball.”

“His father?” Betty asks, confused.

“Mr. Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Second is, of course as you know, on the Board of Governors and has been for nearly a decade. He was quite instrumental in the fruition of this ball. I believe it was completely his idea and he had been insistent that the Head Boy and Head Girl should attend together,” McGonagall continues, not paying attention to the way that Betty’s eyes go wide with incredulity.

“Instrumental,” she repeats with a whisper. She sets down the glass of pumpkin juice on a nearby table. “I’m so sorry, Headmistress, but I really do need to find the Head Boy. We have matters to discuss.”

“Of course, Ms. Cooper. Have a lovely rest of your evening,” McGonagall replies easily as she sways to the music.

Betty pushes her way through the crowd, trying to spot that familiar head of dark midnight hair anywhere in the crowd but again, he’s nowhere to be found. Thought after thought floods her mind -- _what does it all mean? Did Jughead ask his father to convince the Board of Governors to host this ball? Why? Why would he insist that they attend together?_

Because of you, her brain whispers to her in a flash. She thinks back to her earlier train of thought -- platonic or romantic? Convincing your father to sway the Board of Governors so you can attend the ball with a specific someone is decidedly romantic.

Romantic. Which means her friends were right. Which means, Jughead Jones likes her, and not as a friend. It’s a startling realization.

The songs filter gracefully from one to another, another waltz comes on. She’s not the biggest fan of classical music but this one sounds oddly familiar, like she’s heard it before. Betty stands at the entrance to the Great Hall, her back to the crowd as she listens intently, trying her best to place the tune and calm her stormy thoughts.

Then she hears the one voice from the person she’s spent the entire evening looking for. “May I have this dance?”

Betty whips around, the skirt of her dress bubbling up around her as she does. When she sees him, dashing as ever in his black and white dress robes, his raven hair as mutinous as ever and his blue eyes bright and piercing, she realizes this waltz is the same song that they danced to in class.

All their surroundings, all the people, all the music, all the chattering -- it all fades away when she sees him. Her feet move on their own accord and with a few short steps, she’s standing in front of him, looking up at him with a small smile, taking in every single detail about him.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she says softly.

He doesn’t answer her immediately, just turns his intense gaze to hers, their eyes catching and staying focused on one another. Jughead extends his hand out, signaling for her to take it. Hesitantly, she does, placing her hand in his, realizing for the first time just how big his is. Hers is so small and dainty in comparison. He grazes his thumb over the top of her hand and she feels the callous beneath his index finger.

As they walk, she thinks she hears him murmur, "You look beautiful."

She can't be sure though as his words are mostly drowned out by the sound of the music. He guides them to the dance floor, one hand staying at the small of her back as they move around the room together, the other in her hand.

“Why were you looking for me?” he finally asks, returning to her earlier statement.

“The Headmistress said your father convinced the Board to host this event. She said he insisted that the Head Boy and Head Girl attend together.” She doesn’t look away from his face, wanting to study every reaction.

A wide smile emerges, almost like he’s happy she found this out, completely unbothered by it. “You are quite the detective, Polaris. Of course, I always knew that about you.”

“What does it mean?” she breathes out, her voice suddenly sounding unrecognizable to her own ears. It’s lower, almost seductive. It all rushes back to her, what she was feeling before when she came to the earlier realization. But she needs to hear it from him, in his own words, what she means to him.

“You know what it means,” he murmurs, holding her tighter.

The pressure of his chest against hers is delightfully sinful. He's so close that she thinks she can hear his heart pounding on resoundingly. The heat emanating from him makes her heady and dizzy -- it's intoxicating. It would be so easy to get distracted by it but she forces herself to focus.

“What does it mean?” she repeats, needing him to answer.

“It means that you’ve irrevocably bewitched me, Polaris," he replies. He drops his mouth towards her ear, whispering gruffly, "my North star.”

She gasps when she feels his rough hands caress the side of her face, cupping her cheek ever so softly. He pulls back and stares at her intently, his eyes heavy with desire and want -- all the things that he has yet to voice to her. Brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, he leans down.

She knows he’s going to kiss her -- in front of everyone, at the ball where every single student and professor is currently in attendance. Everyone will know. They’ll all know.

And she can’t bring herself to stop him. Her brain, the only part of her that would've screamed for her to stop him, is currently a melted pile of mush. Her body tells her to move closer. So, she tilts her head up, her pink lips parting with a soft exhale.

Then, they hear the ear-piercing scream -- the blood-curdling type that haunts nightmares.

They immediately break apart. The loss of contact with his body pulls her from her daze. Betty forces her legs to move, rushing behind Jughead, Headmistress McGonagall and a few professors to the point of origin.

As she rushes out of the Great Hall, the first thing she sees is Matilda Bones sobbing into a friend’s arms as the girl struggles to breathe, taking in deep, gasping gulps of air.

Then she spots the body.

Ethel Muggs, still dressed in her red and yellow gown, lies on the floor, a few feet away from the entrance to the ball, a camera clutched in her hand. Her body is unnaturally still and pale, her mouth still open in an O like she was just about to say something.

Betty’s never seen anything quite so horrific.

“Is she- has she-?” she struggles to find the words, to say something so terrible. Saying it aloud is equivalent to admitting that someone has died, so tragically.

“No, Miss Muggs is still alive,” Headmistress McGonagall says as she examines the body, her lips pursed into a straight line.

“She’s been petrified, she has!” Argus Filch yells out from the side, pointing one bony finger at Ethel's still body.

Petrified?

But Harry Potter defeated the basilisk? What is happening at Hogwarts?

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000


	6. Petrification

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you Jana ([latenightcoffeetalks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightcoffeetalks/pseuds/latenightcoffeetalks)) for editing and being wonderful.
> 
> Thank you to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for making this absolutely STUNNING header and for listening to me ramble on and on about this fic. You're the BEST, my dear!!
> 
> And, of course, thank you to Shawn Mendes for writing this gorgeous song. It was on repeat for 5 days straight as I wrote this chapter.

__

_I wonder if I'm being real_  
_Do I speak my truth or do I filter how I feel?_  
_I wonder, wouldn't it be nice_  
_To live inside a world that isn't black and white?_  
_And I wonder if someday you'll be by my side_  
_And tell me that the world will end up alright_  
_I wonder_  
_Right before I close my eyes_  
_The only thing that's on my mind_  
_Been dreaming that you feel it too_  
_I wonder what it's like to be loved by you_

_"Wonder" by Shawn Mendes_

_**Six: Petrification** _

There is something truly horrifying about the sight of a dead -- okay, maybe not dead but petrified -- body.

The last time Jughead saw Ethel was earlier today when he was on his way to Arithmancy. He had spent a little too much time flying between classes and was running late. He had rushed through the hallways, barely realizing that she and Ava Prewett were waving furiously at him, trying to catch his attention. Apologizing quickly, he had dashed off to class. Ethel had looked healthy then -- her red curls bouncing around her face and her brown eyes wide and ecstatic at seeing him.

It was such a menial interaction that he really didn’t think much of it. He didn’t realize that later in the evening he would replay this scene over and over in his head, unable to stop comparing the way Ethel looked then to how she looks now.

Deathly pale, pallid skin, white like a ghost but with a sickly translucent shade to her skin -- like if he looked closer, he could see her insides. Her usually vivid red hair lies flat against her hair, a faded tinny color like dirty copper, almost as if the color was sucked out of her. It’s like everything about her, all her usual characteristics, have been drained from her and what’s left is a shell -- not truly her, not really. He’s never seen anybody petrified in real life -- only what he remembers from awful images in textbooks. Seeing it in real life is so different, so much more visceral and disturbing. He wants to look away but at the same time, he can’t -- he can only stare, completely and morbidly fixated.

It’s only when he notices Betty’s shaking form out of the corner of his eye that he finally breaks his gaze.

Jughead’s initial instinct is to wrap his arms around Betty, to provide some sort of physical comfort for her in her state of distress. But before he can, true to character, she immediately jumps into action; it’s like a light switch in her brain that she flips on and off. She suppresses her own feelings for the greater good. He never noticed it until last year and he’s probably one of the few people that realizes just how good Betty Cooper is at compartmentalizing. It’s probably not the healthiest way of coping -- pushing your own feelings to the background and focusing on others but he thinks it’s the only way she knows how to process.

Betty helps Headmistress McGonagall transport Ethel’s deathly still and petrified body. He walks alongside Betty, lifting his wand to assist with the levitation charm as they head towards the infirmary. As they continue on their path, he mentally pulls out his file on petrification and opens it. His method of coping is different from hers. While Betty jumps to aid, he on the other hand, retreats into himself and tries to deduce the cause and reasoning of the situation, his brain immediately turning to investigation mode.

As defined by the compendium _History of Dark Magicks_ , petrification is a malignant magical state in which a creature is rendered immobile and unresponsive, like they’ve been turned into stone. It reminds him a lot of the muggle myth of Medusa where with one look, she was capable of turning men into that condition, frozen forever. In the magical world, Medusa’s power is similar to the Basilisk’s though the snake’s gaze kills living creatures instantly; when seen indirectly, its gaze causes petrification instead. There’s also the possibility that a dark potion could cause this but it’s an area that’s rarely studied by Potion Masters. To current knowledge, no such potion exists. This dark magic is not to be confused with a Full Body-Bind Curse or the Hardening Charm, both of which are easily reversible with advanced spellwork. Another similar spell is the Statue curse which turns individuals into stone statues but is still treatable with proper care.

Ethel’s current state is unusual -- her skin remains pallid and pale, not transformed into stone. It’s similar to the result of a Basilisk’s indirect gaze.

Jughead is pulled from his thoughts when they arrive at the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey rushes over, her mouth dropping open, aghast, when she sees who it is.

“Poor girl,” Madame Pomfrey says before she motions for them to set her body down on an open bed. She runs her hands over Ethel’s face, instantly getting to work to assess her condition and measuring her heartbeat. “It’s weaker than I’d like, consistent with a victim of petrification,” she tells the group.

Headmistress McGonagall stands at the foot of the bed, her expression grim and worried. “Do you have the healing potion on hand, Poppy?”

“I have one last vial of Mandrake Restorative Draught,” Madame Pomfrey replies before she shuffles towards her storage cabinet to retrieve the potion. “It’s a good thing that I still have this in my stores. It takes so long to brew.”

“Didn’t the second-years just finish replanting the baby Mandrakes last week?” Betty asks, seemingly unconsciously moving towards Jughead as she speaks, her voice tepid.

Jughead’s hands remain fisted by his side but with the slightest movement, he’d be able to brush up against her arm. He’s tempted to but resists the urge.

“I believe so. It’s fortuitous. After the Mandrakes have matured, we will need to brew more restorative draught to have on hand. There’s no telling if this is the start of something more,” McGonagall says bleakly.

Jughead watches as Madame Pomfrey uncorks the vial. Similar to veritaserum, Mandrake Restorative Draught is also odorless and clear. Madame Pomfrey pries open Ethel’s mouth and pours the liquid in. As it falls from the vial, it shimmers iridescently, sparkling like light catching the facets of a gem. He’s never seen this particular healing potion administered before and makes a mental note of that result, having never read that it does that in all his studies.

Madame Pomfrey massages Ethel’s pale frozen throat so that the potion travels down her esophagus and can start to take effect. She sighs and stands back after she’s done. “That’s all we can do for now.”

“That’s it?” Betty asks, eyes still wide.

“Now we wait,” Madame Pomfrey reaffirms.

“Miss Cooper, Mr. Jones,” McGonagall calls out, her voice soft but stern. “Perhaps you both should return to your quarters for some rest. It’s been an eventful evening, to say the least.”

Betty doesn’t respond, her green eyes still affixed to Ethel’s stone-line visage -- seemingly still in shock at the circumstance. Jughead nods, answering for both of them. “Of course, thank you, Headmistress.”

He wraps his arm around Betty’s shoulder and starts to guide her out of the infirmary. As they exit, he hears McGonagall sigh loudly.

“Do you really think it’s the Chamber of Secrets again?” Madam Pomfrey asks.

A beat. “I’m inclined to say no but I’ve been wrong before. However, the Muggs are Purebloods so that seems to be contrary to the basilisk’s original intention,” McGonagall answers before sighing once again. “I thought this year would be different.”

Madame Pomfrey doesn’t reply, seeming to take in McGonagall’s words in horrified silence. Jughead glances back towards the two women and sees the genuine concern etched on the nurse’s face.

Madame Pomfrey leans forward across the bed and brushes a strand of hair out of Ethel’s face. “She’s always been my favorite of the infirmary volunteers. So bright and enthusiastic.”

“She’ll get better,” McGonagall tells her.

“Yes, I certainly hope so.”

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Jughead’s arm never leaves Betty’s shoulder as they walk through the castle. This is the first time that he’s ever held her -- sort of -- and definitely the first time that their bodies have touched one another for an extended period of time. It’s something so simple -- his hand on her shoulder but with every step, he feels the way her skin pulses beneath his touch and the way the heat from her body emanates from her like it’s sucking him into some unavoidable vortex. When they stepped out of the warmth of the infirmary, she had shivered slightly. She was still dressed in her ball gown which did little to protect her from the cold night. Without another word, he had undone his outer black robe and draped it over her.

She hadn’t protested. Perhaps, that in and of itself was a red flag that she hadn’t yet recovered from the horrendous sight of Ethel’s body.

He’s half tempted to take the long way back, to have an excuse to hold her longer, but almost immediately decides against it and shoots the idea down. He’s never seen her quite this shaken before and he knows that the sooner that they get back to their quarters, the better. When they finally get to their door, he murmurs the password and they walk in, his hand at the small of her back, guiding her.

As soon as they step in through the door, she moves away from him. The loss of their contact hits him and he tries his best to tamp down the disappointment.

He expects her to bolt up the staircase to her room but she doesn’t. Instead, she stands in front of the fireplace, her gaze staring intently at the dancing flames.

For the first time in his well-rehearsed life, Jughead doesn’t know what to say to her. He doesn’t know what are the right words for this moment, the perfect phrase that will soothe her worries and drive away her shock. How he desperately wishes he was taught this, given clear instructions on how to do this -- how to do this for her.

There will always be so much that he can never truly express to her because he doesn’t know how.

Betty moves a bit closer to the fire and undoes the buttons to his robe. He watches her, feeling like he’s intruding on a private moment, as her delicate fingers nimbly unbutton the front of the black fabric. The wool robe slips off her shoulders and she throws it onto the couch behind her without even glancing in the direction. Her glimmering silver dress comes into view. It’s a stunning garment, even more so on her. As she moves to sit cross-legged in front of the fire, the chiffon fabric gathers around her, pooling and surrounding her body; she looks like a radiant fairy -- too beautiful and delicate for this harsh world. Every single instinct in his body roars alive, screaming for him to protect her.

Only when she’s situated does she finally look up and glance in his direction.

He’s still frozen to his spot near the entrance, quietly waiting for her signal. Betty’s face remains neutral as she pats the stone ground next to her. Without his outer robes, he’s clad only in a pair of black slacks and a crisp white shirt. Undoing the bowtie, he lets out a breath of relief when the offending accessory is finally off, no longer suffocating him. He sits down next to her. The fire is so warm and inviting and his whole body moves unconsciously towards it. With a flick of his wrist, he conjures two mugs of hot cocoa and hands one to her.

“That’s a neat trick,” she tells him as she gratefully accepts one mug. Her pink tongue comes out to gather a tiny marshmallow.

He visibly shifts, his body immediately reacting to the motion. His pants feel uncomfortably tight and he knows that the last thing she needs right now is to see his physical reaction to her. So, he averts his gaze. Staring into the fire, he tries to think of anything but how ethereal she looks right now in her silver dress. The light glow of the fire brightens the color of the fabric, making her entire being radiate with brilliance.

“It comes in handy,” he replies, still trying to look everywhere but at her. He only has so much self-control. It would be so easy to lean over and capture her lips like he almost did earlier tonight. But again, he resists. He knows it’s not the right time. And with her, it’s all about timing.

They’re both quiet for a while. The only noises in the room are the crackling fire and slow sips of hot chocolate.

She’s the first to break the silence.

“It puts it all into perspective, don’t you think? Before tonight, I was worried about Transfiguration essays and planning the ball, wanting it to be the perfect welcome back event.” Her voice trembles slightly, the only clue that she’s not as unaffected as her neutral and calm appearance reveals. “None of that matters, not really,” she finishes softly.

She’s right.

Before they discovered Ethel, his thoughts were primarily focused on Quidditch, dealing with his parents (specifically his mother), and handling the logistics for the ball. He didn’t want Betty to worry. For one night, he wanted her to release herself of all her responsibilities and just be herself -- just Betty. Not the Head Girl. Not the always diligent and focused student. Not the ambitious Slytherin, determined to make her place in their world.

He wanted her to forget all of that. He wanted it to be perfect for her because maybe, if she saw that, she would see how perfect he was for her.

All of that seems so far behind them now. It’s surreal to think it’s only been a few hours since it all happened.

Jughead takes another slow sip of his hot chocolate and sets it down next to him on the ground before he turns towards her. He stretches his long legs and taps his dress shoes against her high heels. If she’s startled by the gesture, she doesn’t show it on her face.

“You should never lose your ability to feel excited and worried over the little things. It’s what makes us human. And at the end of the day, through all the blood and magic, aren’t we all that?”

Betty looks deeply into his eyes for a moment before she breaks the gaze and stares back into the fire. She neither confirms nor denies his statement. Instead, she asks him, “do you think someone is hunting muggleborns again?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “To us, it feels like an antiquated notion but that desire to hurt or other people, making them feel like they don’t belong so you can feel like you do -- that’s innate in all of us. It’s primal.”

Growing up in Pureblood society, practically trapped within it, he’s been exposed to every single way that certain people will always remain willfully hateful towards those that they consider different and foreign. They may have fabricated polite and seemingly innocuous ways of spreading their messaging but regardless, it’s still there.

“I thought we moved past this,” she says, her voice tinged with disappointment.

“Maybe we never can,” he returns.

“That’s a rather dismal outlook on human nature,” she comments wryly. Her green eyes sparkle as she teases him.

And for one moment, it would be so easy to pretend that nothing else mattered. In their own small world in this room with the flickering light emanating from the roaring fire, in comfortable warmth, they could hide from reality. It would be so easy to pretend that he isn’t burdened by his name and his responsibilities; to forget all the obstacles that stand in their way.

Because of his blood. Because of hers. She’s not meant for him. But he still, so desperately, wants her.

The sound of her setting her mug down on the table behind them draws him out of his thoughts. His charming smile -- his shield -- immediately reemerges on his face.

“I prefer to think of myself as a realist or a pragmatist,” he finally says.

“I think the word you’re looking for there is pessimist,” she corrects good-naturedly.

Jughead can’t help but grin at this. She so easily disarms him. He should be scared of her ability to do that -- he certainly has in the past -- and want to run in the opposite direction. But here, in this moment, sitting in front of the fire with her, he only wants to prolong it. So ardently, he wants to stay here with her and never leave.

The silence overtakes them once again. He switches off between staring at the fire, sneaking not so inconspicuous glances at Betty, and flicking his wand to tend to the fire every so often. He’s not sure what time it is but it’s likely quite late. One glance out the window shows the moon is high in the sky, the only light in the pitch black night.

The fire is slowly dying out, only piles of burning embers and ash. To his side, he hears Betty’s even breathing and sees her leaning against the table behind them, almost slumped over it. He doesn’t know when she fell asleep but after the events of the evening, he understands her need for rest.

Perhaps he should get some too. With a wave of his hand, the empty mugs of hot cocoa vanish and with another, the fire completely extinguishes, smoke rising in the fireplace. Jughead lifts up Betty’s body easily. All the Quidditch and flying he’s done over the years have molded and sculpted his muscles well. She snuggles further into his chest, her cheek presses right up against him. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, he can feel her -- so very close.

His jaw ticks and he shakes himself out of his momentary stupor at the image of Betty Cooper cuddling up against him. He carries her up the stairs, debating for a moment when arrives at the top landing what he should do next. It feels like an intrusion of privacy if he enters her room without having been expressly invited in but at the same time, he can’t very well just leave her here to sleep on the stone steps.

Decision made, he pushes the door open. Her room is similar to his with almost the exact same layout but it’s a mirror image with all the furniture on the opposite side. Her large 4-poster bed is draped in green and silver, contrasting from his red and yellow. She has a few decorations up -- mostly pictures of her with friends and family. Besides that, her room is clean and uncluttered, similar to his own. His mind races, wanting to draw all the parallels between how their rooms, like their personalities, mirror and complement one another so well.

It’s exactly seven steps from the door to her bed that he mentally counts in his head, trying to grasp at anything to distract from how wonderful she feels against him. When he starts to set her down on her covers, she shifts in his arms, like she’s trying to get closer to him. It takes all the strength within him to place her gently on the bed and tuck her in.

Betty moves against the covers as if she is trying to get more comfortable. With bated breath, he waits for her to wake up and then berate him for intruding on her private space like this. But it never comes. She remains asleep, her eyelids fluttering every so often. He wonders what she’s dreaming of? He knows what he hopes for but he is well aware that it will always remain just that -- a hope and not a reality.

Jughead brushes one stray strand of blonde hair out of her face and forcibly pulls his hand back so that he doesn’t start to caress her hair. Her usually furrowed brow is uncreased and in her sleep, she looks so peaceful; none of the things that usually bother her when she’s awake can get to her now.

With one last look at her, he leans forward and kisses her gently on the forehead, whispering, “Good night, Polaris.”

Then he straightens back up and forces himself to take the seven steps out of her room, knowing he’s way past the bounds of what propriety would allow.

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The next day, the day after the ball, all anyone can talk about is what happened to Ethel Muggs.

Jughead stops by the infirmary first thing in the morning before breakfast and heading off to Quidditch practice. It seems so surreal to be going about his normal day, like a student wasn’t just petrified at school. When he arrives at the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey sits next to Ethel’s bed, her usually bright and cheerful face is heavy with worry. Dark circles are noticeable under her eyes and her typical coiffed hair is messy with strands falling here and there around her face.

“How is she?” Jughead asks as he approaches Ethel’s bed.

Ethel’s round face is still pale though a bit more color has returned to her cheeks. She looks less stone-like, less frozen, like the life has been breathed back into her body. Madame Pomfrey stands up, smoothing down the side of the blanket covering Ethel’s still body.

“She’s showing signs of improvement. Her heart rate has normalized and her temperature is slowly returning to where it should be. I think she’s going to be okay,” she tells him.

“When do you think she’ll wake up?” he asks, still staring at Ethel’s pallid face.

“I’m not sure. Maybe another couple of days? The potion’s results aren’t instantaneous. It takes time. She’s improved more than I could’ve expected already -- it usually takes longer for the draught to take effect. I’m surprised-”

A low groan stops her speech almost instantly. They both turn towards the sound, eyes wide when they see Ethel shift in the bed as she tugs the covers further up to cover her shoulder.

“She moved,” Jughead says, knowing he’s stating the obvious. “That has to be good right?”

“It’s very good, Mr. Jones,” Madame Pomfrey agrees before she rushes to Ethel’s side to tend to her further.

“I should go,” he tells her. Then he reaches into his robes and produces a small cauldron cake still packaged in its distinct wrapping. He sets it down at the nightstand next to Ethel’s bed. “For when she wakes up.”

Madame Pomfrey offers him a genuine smile before she scurries off, no doubt to get something that will ease Ethel’s discomfort. He turns on his heel and disappears through the infirmary doors.

0000000000000000000000000000000000

No matter how much Jughead tries to avoid talking about what happened to Ethel, it seems like it’s impossible to ignore it. Throughout breakfast, he keeps his mouth shut, his warning glare effectively dissuading his friends to not ask him about it.

But as he walks towards the Quidditch pitch, he sees a small group of Gryffindors congregating right next to the entrance to the field. They are clearly gossiping because as Jughead approaches, he sees Ava slapping Gabriel on the arm, signaling for him to shut up.

“What’s this?” Jughead asks, his grip tightening on his broom.

“Nothing,” Archie quickly answers, stopping Gabriel from jumping in. “Let’s get to practice. I’m sure Toni’s already waiting for us.”

Jughead nods and stares at Gabriel suspiciously to which the 5th Year rolls his eyes hard.

Gabriel crosses his arms in front of him before scoffing. “Why are you suddenly so eager to defend the Slytherins, Jones? We all know it was them that’s done this.”

Archie lets out a heavy sigh and turns around, sending Gabriel a look of pure annoyance. Reggie, who’s just turned the corner to face the entrance, furrows his brows when he sees the group gathered. Archie waves the co-captain over hurriedly.

Jughead takes one step forward, his entire being radiating with bottled up magical energy. The air crackles around him with intensity. “What did you just say to me, Sloper?”

Gabriel, never one to back down, shoots him a satisfied smirk. “I asked why you’re so eager to defend the Slytherins. Is it because of your pretty princess? She’s not awful to look at, I’ll give you that. Especially for a snake.”

“Hey, that’s enough,” Reggie demands as he steps in between them. He shoots a deadly look at Gabriel. “Stand down now.”

“What’s the point? We all know it was Scorpius Malfoy. The last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, it was because of his father,” Gabriel says matter-of-factly, the smirk never disappearing from his face.

“We all know Professor Malfoy had nothing to do with it. Or have you been dozing off during History of Magic courses?” Reggie exclaims, putting his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and shoving him back.

“The Malfoys can’t be trusted. Scorpius’s grandfather was a known Death Eater and Voldemort’s right-hand man. The Slytherins are criminals and filth. We all know this,” Callum McLaggen, another 5th Year Gryffindor, declares decisively.

“Scorpius is a prefect; his father is a Hogwarts Professor and his mother is Hermione Granger, the most powerful witch of her time and also the most famous muggleborn that helped defeat Voldemort, or did you forget? Learn to watch your tongue,” Jughead says, gritting his teeth and clenching his hands into fists.

“Tom Riddle was also a prefect,” Gabriel returns, his voice wavering slightly as if he’s starting to realize he’s standing on shaky ground.

“Are you seriously comparing Scorpius to a mass-murdering tyrant right now?” Reggie asks in disbelief.

“If the wand fits,” Callum says as he crosses his arms and stands next to Gabriel in solidarity.

“My original question still stands, Jones. Why are you so eager to defend their House? They’re our enemies,” Gabriel asks.

Jughead rises to his full height and straightens his back, his shoulders broad, his entire body pulsing with threatening energy. When he finally speaks, his voice is cold and intimidating. “They are not our enemies. None of them are. You’re so wrapped up in your prejudices against the Slytherins that you can’t see beyond your hate and ignorance. We are not bound to our families' pasts. It doesn't define us.”

Jughead takes another step towards Gabriel, his blue eyes flashing with anger. He puts one large hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and squeezes hard, satisfied when he hears Gabriel’s pained gasp. Leaning in close to his ear, he speaks quietly so that only Gabriel can hear.

“Never insult Betty Cooper in front of me. Say another word against her and I will end you.” Jughead squeezes once more for good measure, his grip tightening.

Then, Jughead lets go and takes a step back and flashes the group one of his signature charming smiles. “Ten points from Gryffindor for offensive claims and spreading falsehoods. One week’s worth of detention for Gabriel and Callum for being the primary perpetrators.”

Reggie simply smiles at Jughead’s declaration, clearly agreeing with him. He pats Archie on the back, a sign that they should leave. Jughead turns on his heel and walks alongside his friends towards the Quidditch pitch, swinging his broom around as he whistles jovially.

Ava shakes her head and looks at the two shamed Gryffindors. “If you two don’t learn to shut your mouths, we’re going to have negative points this year.”

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After practice, Jughead returns to his room feeling much more relaxed, as he usually does after flying. This dissipates as soon as he sees Apus waiting by his window, a letter clutched in his beak. With a sigh, he retrieves the letter from Apus and feeds him a cracker from the jar of treats by the window. The letter is similar to the last one he received -- expensive handmade paper and their family crest stamped in red wax on the opening.

He tears it open, knowing there’s no point in delaying the inevitable.

_I heard what happened. I’ll call you by Floo this evening at 18:00. - FP_

This letter, like countless others he’s received from his father, is short and straight to the point. It defines his father quite well in that sense. Apus pecks Jughead’s hand, asking for another treat. Jughead reaches into the jar and plucks out another cracker, handing it to the owl before he runs his hand down Apus’s feathers. After devouring the cracker, Apus trills, a sign of goodbye, before he flies out the window.

Jughead flops onto his bed with an audible oomph. News travels fast in the Wizarding World and especially if you are powerful and influential -- both accurate descriptions for his parents. He’s honestly surprised his father didn’t contact him sooner about this.

He should feel nervousness or anticipation but he doesn’t, not anymore. What he does feel is exhaustion -- pure, unadulterated weariness.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

At exactly 5:58 PM, Jughead answers the Floo in the fireplace in his and Betty’s shared common room. The fire flickers and crackles but regardless, centered in the flames is the handsome and charming face of Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Second.

“Son,” he greets.

“Father,” Jughead returns.

They’re both quiet for what seems like a solid minute before FP’s face breaks out into a wide grin.

“You’re missed at the manor.”

Of course, this is typical. _You’re missed, not I miss you._ His father’s words are always carefully chosen and incisive -- Jughead has picked up this trait from him.

“How’s Jelly?” Jughead asks. He misses his little sister dearly. She’s one of the few positives about his time at home, back at the manor.

“She’s full of energy as I’m sure you can imagine,” FP answers with a wry smile. “She’s taken to flying too so maybe she’ll end up on the Gryffindor Quidditch team like us both.”

“What if she’s not sorted into Gryffindor?”

“Every single Jones has been sorted into Gryffindor for the last century. I have no doubt that Jelly will as well. Even so, if she doesn’t then she won’t be in Gryffindor,” FP says simply. He pauses for a beat. “I’m not your mother, Jughead. You know that.”

Jughead lets out a sigh as he looks into the fire. “Mother said she was already making arrangements for me to meet my future bride,” he bites out.

“She just wants what she thinks is best for you. She loves you. You know that.”

“That may be but we had an agreement,” Jughead says in annoyance.

“And that agreement still stands. You have until the end of the academic year to do as you please, son. Find that special witch, fall in love, and declare your intentions. I stand by my word and you have my full support in this endeavor. But you can’t have forever. Your mother is relentless and she will never abide by you graduating Hogwarts unattached. You know our customs,” FP says calmly.

Jughead is silent, the tick in his jaw returning as he debates his next words. “And you will agree to the witch of my choosing, regardless of bloodline.”

“Yes, I will agree.” FP pauses for a moment before he asks, “How did the ball go? Did the arrangements work out the way you intended?”

“Almost,” he replies quietly. Not wanting to talk about this particular subject further, Jughead launches into a quick recap of what happened to Ethel at the ball.

FP’s expression remains stoic and neutral as he listens to his son speak but over the years, Jughead’s been able to pick up his father’s tells. FP’s lips are set in a firm, straight line -- it means he’s concerned and thinking.

“Petrified?” FP asks after Jughead is done. “How can that be possible? Harry Potter killed the basilisk.”

“Yeah, that’s what we all thought. Did Salazar Slytherin have another basilisk hidden away for round three?” Jughead’s partially kidding but also somewhat serious.

“No, after the Chamber of Secrets was discovered, an Auror team was dispatched to Hogwarts and they searched the entirety of it. There was nothing else there besides the basilisk’s dead corpse.”

“Charming,” Jughead comments. “There’s something off about this,” he tells his father honestly, divulging his gut feeling. “I can’t explain it.”

“The Muggs girl, she’s a pureblood. Her father and I are long acquaintances. He’s a renowned Potions Master. Their family is well-respected.”

“Wasn’t the basilisk only supposed to attack muggleborns? Wasn’t that the whole point of Salazar Slytherin’s campaign for pureblood supremacy?” Jughead asks.

“Yes, that’s always been the consensus,” FP says. “Trust your instinct about this. I’ll owl over any books we have in the library about petrification.”

“The Head Unspeakable is helping solve this mystery?” Jughead asks, his tone teasing.

“I will always help you, son.”

“I know.”

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Jughead doesn’t see Betty much over the next day or so which doesn’t surprise him. He knows she needs some time to herself to gather her thoughts. They’ve had a rather eventful weekend from him almost confessing his feelings and kissing her to finding Ethel’s petrified body right after. She’s probably also wondering about what McGonagall told her about the ball and his father’s involvement. They have a lot to talk about but he understands her desire to process alone; she’s always been like this. He handles his emotions in a similar way.

She can’t avoid him forever though.

On Monday night, they have rounds together -- one of the two nights every week where they’re guaranteed a few hours alone. He’s never been eager to do rounds; after all, they have always been one of his most loathed responsibilities as a prefect and Head Boy. But tonight, he’s almost looking forward to them.

He would never admit that to her though.

At exactly 9 PM, Jughead stands in front of the Charms classroom -- the agreed upon meeting spot they had determined when the academic year started to meet for rounds. When he looks down at his watch, he sees that it’s 9:01 PM already. It’s unusual for her to be late.

As soon as the thought enters his mind, he hears the familiar pitter-pattering of her steps. Betty appears in the darkened hallway only moments later, her outer black robes floating around her. She’s dressed in a silver sweater, black wool skirt and a silver and green tie. Even clad in a simple school uniform, she looks unbelievably stunning.

“Ready Polaris?” he asks.

Her cheeks grow bright pink at his words and he’s assuming she’s thinking about the real meaning behind his nickname. Good, he’s not ashamed of it. He plans on revealing the true depth of his feelings for her slowly and steadily.

She’s quiet tonight.

He knows it’s because she’s not quite sure what to say around him. Their usual comfortable silence is stilted and heavy with unsaid words. As they pass the Potions classroom, almost at the end of their rounds, he turns to her suddenly, his hand reaching out to graze her arm. She turns to him, her attention fully on him.

“Just ask me. I know you want to,” Jughead says to her honestly. He watches her carefully -- the surprise flickers in her orbs and it’s like he can hear the thoughts whizzing in her brain as she tries to calculate what to say in response.

Betty opts for heeding his advice which is unexpected but in the best way possible. She stops walking and faces him directly.

“What did it mean, what the Headmistress said? Why did your father convince the Board of Governors to host a ball and why was it mandatory that we attended together?” she asks, her gaze unflinching, probing him for the truth.

“The original intention remains true -- the ball was to promote Inter-House unity and camaraderie.”

“And?” she prompts. “What else?”

A hint of a smile creeps onto his face at this reaction -- she is ever the tenacious detective, never fading in her intentions for finding the truth of any matter. He takes a step forward, lifting his hand up so that his palm is facing up.

“Come flying with me.”

“What?” she asks, completely perplexed.

“Come flying with me,” he says again, his hand still outstretched, waiting for her to put her hand in his.

“You didn’t answer my questions, Jughead,” she responds, crossing her arms in front of her chest and raising an eyebrow.

He smirks at this and shakes his head lightly. “Come flying with me and I’ll answer them,” he returns, challenging her.

Betty pauses for a moment, her hand moving off of her chest but still not quite reaching out. “Isn’t flying right now breaking the rules?”

Jughead’s smirk deepens. “Sometimes the rules are worth breaking.”

She breathes in deeply and bites her lower lip, still not answering him.

“I have permission from Madame Hooch to fly anytime I want, Polaris,” he says after she refuses to acquiesce.

“How?” she asks, bewildered.

“Another question I can answer for you when we’re flying. Now, come on.” He moves his hand again to get her attention, the smile on his face turning into a full-out grin when she finally -- _finally_ \-- places her hand in his.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000


	7. Arresto Momentum - Slows Velocity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, thank you to my darling, Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for her speedy and amazing editing skills. I don't know what I'd do without you, love. Thank you so much for everything that you do. The entire first scene is because of her. Thank you for brainstorming with me!!!
> 
> And of course, thank you Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for this gorgeous and absolutely PERFECT header. I mean, seriously????? I am in awe of your talent, my dear.
> 
> I upped the chapter count because I have a lot more story to tell and I can’t seem to stop writing this. Hopefully nobody minds.
> 
> Donald the Dreadful is a nod to Donnie Darko from canon! The post-flying scene is dedicated to Anna ([edamamechips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edamamechips/pseuds/edamamechips)) because she wouldn’t stop sending me pics of shirtless dudes so I did what I had to do.
> 
> The Dark Arts passage is inspired by this lovely [wiki page.](https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Dark_Arts)

_All I need is just to hear a song I know_  
_I wanna always feel like part of this was mine_  
_I wanna fall in love tonight_  
_Are you gonna to live your life_  
_Standing in the back looking around?_  
_Are you gonna waste your time?_  
_Gotta make a move or you'll miss out_  
_Someone's gonna to ask you what it's all about_  
_What are you gonna have to say for yourself?_

_“A Praise Chorus” by Jimmy Eat World_

_**Seven: Arresto Momentum - Slows Velocity** _

Jughead’s known about magic for practically the entirety of his life. He grew up around it, immersed and surrounded by it. Magic is familiar, like an old friend.

When Betty places her hand in his, their palms and fingers touching for the first time in this context -- it’s like something beyond magic. He’s smart -- widely considered to be one of the brightest students in their year but even he can’t come up with the right word to describe it.

It goes beyond feeling. It’s like that sense you get when everything clicks into place and you know, without a doubt, that this is right -- this is the way things are supposed to be.

Holding Betty Cooper’s hand while he leads them out of the castle -- it’s right. Flying has always been intimate for him. When he’s whizzing through the sky, the wind in his hair, feeling weightless in the air -- he’s at his freest and most exposed. It’s a side of him that he rarely shows others. But sharing that part of himself with her? It feels right.

Almost dramatically, he holds his left hand out, his other hand never letting go of hers, and says, “ _Accio broom_.”

Betty watches him, clearly amused. “That’ll never work. Your broom is in our common room which is all the way on the other side of the castle-”

He continues to hold his arm out, never wavering. Just as she’s about to finish her sentence, the broom appears in the distance. It whips past Betty, the gush of wind blowing her blonde hair into her face and firmly into his grasp.

Jughead flashes her a cocky, self-satisfied grin. “You were saying?”

“Another neat trick?” she asks, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“You know I’m full of them.”

He readies the broom, holding it out so it floats in the air by itself. Hopping on gracefully, he holds his arm out again -- the second time this evening -- and waits for her to take it. Betty looks at it warily, as if his arm is the embodiment of dark magic and she has no trust whatsoever in it.

“Come on, Polaris. You scared?” he taunts playfully, loving the way her green eyes flash with annoyance and fire.

She huffs in exasperation, rolling her eyes before she takes another step closer to the broom. One hand comes out to grip the wood, her delicate fingers wrapping around it hesitantly. “You promise you won’t kill us?”

“Have a little faith in me,” he says. When she still doesn’t move to hop on the broom, he leans in a little closer, his face inches away from hers. “I promise. Now get on and don’t let go.”

With another cautious glance, she sighs and jumps up, throwing her leg over the broom and clutching onto Jughead’s robes nervously as he begins to lift them into the air.

“Oh, I already hate this,” she mutters as they get higher and higher.

Her fingers practically claw at his waist and his emotions range from amusement to elation. He lifts them up more and more until they’re so far up in the night sky that it almost feels like if he reaches out, he could touch the stars above them. Once he steadies the broom, he swings his leg over so that he sits perpendicular on the broom, no longer straddling it. He motions for her to do the same.

Betty simply stares at him like he has boils erupting from his skin. “Absolutely not.”

“I would never let you fall, Polaris. Trust me.”

She eyes him warily before she breathes in deeply and closes her eyes, as if trying to steady her breath and calm herself. “You know I’m scared of heights,” she tells him before she opens her eyes once again and swings her leg over, her hands gripping the broom deathly tight.

“Was that so hard?” he teases playfully.

“I can still hex you, you know? Don’t tempt me,” she teases right back. After a few minutes of silence, she seems to visibly relax, actually able to enjoy the gorgeous view above them. “So what are we looking at?” she asks softly.

Jughead points directly above them, highlighting a zig-zagging constellation. “That’s Cassiopeia.”

“Beautiful,” she murmurs.

Moving his arm to the left, he traces a rhombus pattern in the air, connecting a series of stars. “That’s Cepheus.”

“Cepheus was married to Cassiopeia in muggle mythology. Their daughter was Andromeda,” Betty tells him.

Jughead turns on his side so that he faces the opposite direction before pointing out another constellation formed of double curved lines. “That’s Andromeda.”

“It’s all connected,” she says softly, her eyes affixed straight above them, like she’s in awe of the beauty.

His mind races with anticipation when he sees the next constellation he wants to point out. He’s thought about this moment hundreds of times before, planning and rehashing out what he would say and do over and over again. He thought he’d be more nervous but a sense of calm washes over him. He lets himself just enjoy being here with her.

Jughead turns so he’s facing forward again, his thigh bumping into Betty’s. He doesn’t move his leg and she doesn’t move hers so they stay like that, still touching. He points overhead.

“That’s Ursa Minor,” he says, before he moves his hand down towards the right. “And at the tip of Ursa Minor is Polaris.”

She breathes in sharply.

“The North Star. The brightest star in the sky. In the northern sky, everything moves around it but Polaris stays constant, a fixed point. Like it’s the end and the beginning,” he finishes.

The insinuation is clear but a part of him still wonders -- should he say more? Should he expose more of himself? Should he be more explicit?

He lowers his arm and takes in a deep breath before he turns to her, watching her expression carefully. “The original intention of the ball was to promote Inter-House camaraderie,” he starts, repeating his statement from before. “But it was also because I told my father there was a witch at Hogwarts I really wanted to impress -- someone that never gave me the time of day before but I knew there was something there, something between us. The ball gave me another opportunity to try to prove that to her, especially if we were required to go together.”

Betty continues to look straight ahead, her chest rising and falling rapidly and her fingers curled around the broom -- the only indications that she heard what he had just said.

He waits patiently -- maybe, not so patiently -- for her to respond, knowing that he had to take this at her pace. He had been living with these feelings for so long now; they were always his constant companion. However, this is all brand new to her. He had to be patient. He didn’t want to completely overwhelm her so he doesn’t say anything more than that, waiting for her to ask him for more. He’s made his move -- it’s her turn now.

“I don’t really know what to say,” she finally breathes out. She intertwines her fingers in her lap and bites her lip, turning to look at him. “I don’t want to mess this up,” she confesses. “Can I have some time to think?”

“Okay,” he replies simply.

Wanting to provide a distraction, Jughead offers her a comforting smile and lifts his wand, murmuring something Betty doesn’t quite hear. Small fairy lights explode from his wand and burst into the sky, surrounding them in a warm glow. The lights float against the wind, encircling their bodies.

"They're beautiful," she murmurs.

He nods, pausing for a moment as he deliberates his next words. "If you ever repeat this to anyone, I'll deny it but when I was young, I was terrified of the dark."

"Jughead Jones afraid of the dark? That seems out of character." The teasing lilt in her voice returns and he mentally breathes a sigh of relief that he hasn’t completely scared her away.

"It’s the natural result of growing up in an enormous manor that is definitely haunted. I spent most of my childhood alone. Mother was always busy attending to her social duties and my father worked. When he came home, he'd just drink firewhisky because he was so exhausted, not wanting to deal with anything else. So I was lonely. That loneliness manifested itself into a fear of the darkness," he recounts.

“I’m so sorry. No childhood should ever be like that. It sounds very isolating,” she says, eyes wide with sympathy. Enraptured by his story, she waits for him to go on.

"It wasn’t completely awful, I guess. The first time I ever did magic was a complete accident, like most people. It was a dark and stormy night and the wind kept rattling the windows. I was so scared. When one particularly loud strike of thunder boomed out, lights burst out of my hands and into the air." Jughead looks up around him at the fairy lights.

"Accidental magic?" Betty breathes out.

He nods. "I spent a few years when I got older trying to figure out what charm it was. It's not quite like _Lumos_. Then in 5th Year, I finally figured it out."

“What was it?” she asks curiously.

“It was something that was just my own,” he responds.

Her eyes get even wider. "So you invented your own charm as a child?"

Inventing your own spellwork is incredibly difficult, requiring intense amounts of study and experimentation. To do it before graduating Hogwarts is impressive enough. To do it as a child is almost unheard of. It spoke depths about his magical capabilities and inherent talent.

"It seems that way,” he says simply, not boasting about this ability.

"That's brilliant," she tells him, before amending, “you’re brilliant.”

The smile on her face lights up her whole being. It’s infectious and he finds himself dumbly smiling back at her. She is so beautiful and yet, she is still always out of his reach. It’s almost painful seeing her like this -- so stunning in her happiness and encouragement for him. What he wants, so wholeheartedly, is just to hold her and call her his. She opens her mouth to say something to continue the conversation but he doesn’t hear any of it, completely lost in his own torturous thoughts.

"Jug?" she asks.

"Fuck it," he mutters before he reaches over and grabs her face firmly in his palms.

Their breaths mingle for one long moment where Jughead stares directly into her eyes, getting lost in the emerald swirls and also giving her time to back away.

But Betty doesn’t flinch or try to escape his grasp; she only looks back at him, anticipation coloring her face. Then, the tightly wound control coiled within him snaps.

He leans in and kisses her softly, almost reverently. He pours all the emotions he's felt and still feels for her into it; like he's wanted to do this for years now and still has a hard time believing it's actually happening, that it's not just another fantasy.

The smell of black orchids and plums surround him, setting all his senses ablaze. Every nerve within him feels exposed to her. Her lips are soft -- so decadently plush. She tastes like cinnamon and something else that he can’t quite describe. He deepens the kiss, pushing tongue into her mouth to explore more of her. He can spend every minute of every day for the rest of his life kissing her and he would never tire of it. Kissing her is so right. When it comes to her, everything is right.

Jughead’s not sure how long they kiss for but finally, very reluctantly, he pulls away. It takes him a few seconds to regain control of his senses and calm the pounding rhythm of his heart. He opens his eyes slowly. Betty’s are still closed and he takes these few rare moments to memorize everything about her beguiling face -- the curve of her bow-shaped lips, the pinkness of her flushed cheeks, and the way strands of her hair fall so softly around her.

She opens her eyes finally. What he sees first is contentness mixed with elation. Then it morphs, likely because the realization of their kiss dawns on her. The happiness he sees only moments ago turns into worry and caution. She looks at him, her expression conflicted. Then her face hardens and she does the last thing he expects. She jumps from the broom, propeling towards the ground. Jughead hurriedly leans over his broom, his brain and body screaming for him to help her -- to rescue her, if needed.

But Betty Cooper, as she’s told him before, doesn’t need to be rescued.

He hears her call out “ _Arresto Momentum_!” Her body gracefully lands on the ground and as soon as her feet hit the grass, she’s bolting towards the castle, not sparing a single look back.

If he wasn’t so shocked, he would’ve found irony in her actions as before they embarked on this little flying adventure, he had promised her that he wouldn’t let her fall. But she did anyway.

Well, that went well.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Jughead knows that the normal thing to feel right now -- after being so unilaterally rejected by Betty Cooper -- is disappointment or dejection.

But the only emotion pumping through his veins as he wakes up the next morning and saunters into the Great Hall is determination. He knows she felt something. He knows that she was just as affected by the kiss as he was. She can run and hide all she wants but he refuses to let her push him away. All these years of speculation and wonder of what her lips taste like and how her body would feel, pressed up against him -- it was all confirmed last night. She can’t deny the way she melted into him. She also can’t deny that she kissed him back, that she wanted it and that she gave into her desire for him, just as much as he did.

For now, he’ll give her space but at some point, she will need to face him.

His sharp blue eyes scan the crowd as he enters the Great Hall, heading straight for his usual table. She’s not here because of course, she’s not here. He knew she would likely hide from him as long as she can drag it out because she’s always been like this. She retreats into herself when she needs to think and no one, not even the people she holds closest, can draw her out before she’s ready.

He knows this and he knows her. Even if she doesn’t want to ever admit that undeniable fact.

Jughead is in the middle of stuffing his face with breakfast foods, barely chewing, when the owls start to deliver the mail, flying overhead. A loud thump alerts him to the precariously stacked pile of books wrapped in twine that Apus dropped off right next to him on the table. Fangs rears back, nearly toppling over his pumpkin juice.

“Dude, a little warning next time?” Fangs asks while shooting a glare at Apus who now sits atop the pile of books, perched proudly.

Apus hoots and stares down at Fangs with beady eyes, not at all bothered that he just interrupted their breakfast. Jughead rips off a corner of his bread, knowing that Apus prefers the toasted crusts, and hands it up to his family owl. Apus trills gratefully, eagerly devouring the toast before he spreads his wings and ascends into the sky once again.

Fangs is still muttering about the owl’s attitude as Jughead rises out of his chair to examine the books that his father sent over.

“Do I even want to ask what those are?” Reggie says, eyeing the stack of books suspiciously.

“ _History of Dark Magicks, Secrets of the Darkest Arts, Moste Potente Potions, Magick Moste Evile_ ,” Fangs reads off, his eyes getting wider and wider with each title he lists. “What the hell?”

“Did you steal these from the Restricted Section?” Archie asks, his head of flaming red hair poking out from behind the stack of books.

“Yes, I stole these books from the Restricted Section and had them delivered to me at breakfast in front of the Headmistress and all the professors. Criminal mastermind, I am,” Jughead comments dryly with a roll of his eyes.

Archie huffs but knows better than to argue. He takes a large bite of a cheese danish instead of retorting.

“These are from the Jones family library. Father sent them,” Jughead says with a wave of his hand. The books disappear off the table, sent to his desk in his room.

“And why is your father sending you books about dark magic?” Reggies asks cautiously.

“I’m doing some research,” Jughead answers evasively. Whatever happened to Ethel is most certainly dark magic. It looked like the life was being drained out of her. He’s never seen anything quite like it.

“Research for what?” Fangs asks, inching a little closer in curiosity.

“I’m not sure yet,” Jughead replies. He feels a sudden pain and immediately glares at Reggie who had just kicked him under the table. He groans and grabs his shin. “What the h-”

Reggie motions for him to turn around. Jughead complies, swiveling against the bench to see Betty walk into the Great Hall. She appears to be clutching a few books close to her chest, her chin tilted upwards, her entire body radiating with resolve. With steady, confident strides, she sits down at her usual Slytherin table, never once directing her gaze towards him.

He smirks. She never fails to surprise him.

Reggie offers him a pointed stare -- one that speaks volumes and Jughead knows exactly what his friend is asking. Jughead gives him an answer with the slightest shake of his head -- a negative. The two continue to have a silent conversation with Reggie raising his eyebrows, another jab.

“Why are you guys staring at each other like that?” Fangs asks, interrupting the two.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

During class, Betty continues to explicitly ignore him, like he’s a blank space in her day. She pays no attention to him -- something that he hates. He’s not sure how she’s even managing it since he sits right next to her in most of their classes together. But somehow, she pulls it off. It further cements that he should never underestimate her.

Jughead’s never been able to accept indifference from her. His entire life is all about control; it’s something that he’s always excelled at taming and commanding. It’s usually wound tightly around his chest and always digging into his skin so he knows he still has it; sometimes it suffocates him, making it difficult to breathe. Now, in this moment, when she avoids him, that control starts to slip away from him; he feels off-kilter and he hates it.

Because when he doesn’t wield it -- when he’s out of control -- he’s at the risk of saying or doing something incredibly stupid.

His right foot taps the ground incessantly, making a clicking noise repeatedly that he knows is probably disrupting the class. But he can’t sit still. It’s like a compulsion within him to move, to somehow release the excess energy that’s built up within him.

After Defense Against the Dark Arts, he bolts out his chair and the classroom but something -- someone -- stops him. Reggie claps his large, burly hand over Jughead’s shoulder and squeezes.

“Let’s practice,” Reggie suggests, already leading them away from the classroom and towards the Quidditch pitch.

“What? No, I have-” Jughead starts to protest before he’s interrupted by Reggie once again.

Reggie clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times. “Captain’s orders, Jones. Let’s go.”

“Reg, we already have practice tomorrow. I don’t need additional training.”

Reggie hitches up a shoulder and continues to walk. Jughead keeps in pace with his friend’s rapid steps. “That may be but you’re too in your head. You barely paid any attention in DADA which is completely unlike you. Something’s bothering you and my guess is on one particularly elusive and gorgeous witch.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine,” Jughead says before he turns to head back towards the classroom.

Reggie extends one arm out and holds Jughead by the elbow, giving his friend another piercing look. “You can’t bullshit your way out of this with me, Jones. We’ve been friends for over a decade. I know your tells.”

Jughead’s jaw ticks before he hangs his head and sighs. “Was it that obvious?”

“Not at all, actually. You are freakishly good at hiding your emotions but I’m more perceptive than you give me credit for,” Reggie replies with a grin. The smile highlights his irresistible dimples and he winks at Jughead. “Come on, dude. You know your fingers are itching for a broom right now. Flying will clear your head.”

Begrudgingly, Jughead agrees and follows Reggie out onto the pitch. They summon their brooms and within a few minutes, they’re up in the air, circling around the posts before Reggie suggests going to the lake. Jughead agrees easily, his shoulders already feeling lighter as they ascend higher and higher.

When they approach the lake, Reggie hovers his broom over the water. Jughead joins him only seconds later, taking in a deep breath as he stabilizes himself. The air feels crisper here. As he inhales, the cool air travels into his lungs. He focuses on his breath -- in, out, in, out. It calms him.

The water is so still today, perfectly reflecting the sun and clouds above it. If he places a single finger against the surface, he’s sure he could count every single ripple that emanates from that point.

Reggie knows him well. He was right before -- they’ve known each other for well over a decade. The history between the Mantles and the Joneses extends far past their friendship. When Jughead was born, he was always meant to be friends with Reggie -- even if they hated one another, which thankfully they do not. But their friendship was preordained even before they were born. Jughead could have fought against it but he’s learned to pick his battles wisely and intentionally.

Reggie throws something in his direction. With quick Quidditch reflexes, Jughead catches it with one hand, pleased to see that it’s a chocolate frog.

“Since when do you share your snacks?” Jughead asks with a smirk.

“Since you turned into Donald the Dreadful this entire day. I’m starting to feel moody by association,” Reggie retorts back, a grin on his face.

Jughead sighs before ripping open the package, viciously biting the frog’s head before it can jump away and escape. He debates his words carefully. “I took her stargazing and told her how I felt. She said she needed time to think about it. Then I kissed her and she literally jumped from the broom.”

“Wow, I always knew Cooper was a badass. She likes to hide behind her robes and her books but she can’t hide it, no matter how hard she tries,” Reggie says with admiration.

“That’s what you got from what I just said?” Jughead asks, clearly annoyed.

“Well, why’d you kiss her if she said she needed time to think about it?”

“I-” Jughead pauses for a moment, not really knowing how to respond. “I couldn’t stop myself. I was so captivated by her. It felt right. I thought she felt it too but maybe not.”

“You scared her off?” Reggie asks knowingly.

“Seems that way,” Jughead responds with another sigh. He’s been doing that a lot today.

“You gotta charm her, dude.”

“I was charming her! I thought that was what I was doing when I brought her stargazing,” Jughead says defensively.

“Questionable, man,” Reggie says with a shake of his head. “Clearly whatever you’re doing is lackluster or else we wouldn’t be up here flying in circles.”

“Well, what exactly do you suggest I should do then?”

Reggie smiles, a devious expression on his face -- one that makes Jughead a little nervous.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Oh, you’ve come to the right heartbreaker. I’m chock full of ideas for romantic gestures.”

Jughead simply rolls his eyes before he turns towards his friend. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

He feels calmer.

Reggie was right. Even though Jughead would never, under any circumstance, reveal that to his friend and unwittingly stroke his ego. He’s very thankful that Reggie convinced him to fly and find an outlet to expend his excess energy.

Jughead’s mind is clearer, much less cluttered than it was before. Betty is the only person that’s been able to affect him like this. Typically, he’s level-headed and restrained but it’s getting harder and harder to stay that way around her. It’s harder for him to pretend he’s wholly unaffected by her. She’s the only person that seems to be able to dig under his skin and burrow her way into his heart. No matter how much he tries -- he can’t remove her imprint on his soul.

After dinner, he and Toni head to the library and manage to snag a coveted table in the back of the library where there’s less foot traffic. The table is large, definitely big enough for six people, so he and Toni are both able to spread out their books and papers without any issues. They work in silence -- the only noises filling the air are of quills scratching against parchment and heavy pages being turned.

Jughead met Toni when they were both sorted into Gryffindor in their first-year. Her father is a half-blood and her mother, a muggle. He’s well aware that her quote-unquote ‘lower blood status’ is the reason why the Joneses and the Topazes never interacted before Hogwarts. He’ll always remember the way his mother behaved when he invited Toni over to the manor over the winter holidays to exchange Christmas presents. Gladys had been put off at the mere sight of Toni -- a girl who proudly wore her personality and vivaciousness on the outside. Ladies are supposed to be demure and are never supposed to draw the spotlight away from their spouses. In his mother’s mind, Toni was not a proper lady.

His mother had discouraged the friendship but he didn’t listen. In a sense, his mother’s dislike of Toni had only spurred him on to befriend Toni even more. His friendship with Toni is different from his and Reggie’s. She never pushes him; she’s always been able to read him well enough to know that she can’t force things with him. If he wants to talk, he’ll go to her directly.

He’s always respected this about her.

About an hour or so into their studies, Toni leans back in her chair with a loud exhale. She brushes a strand of pink hair out of her face. “I can’t believe I’m still not done with this essay. This is going to take me all night.”

“Maybe this is more reason not to procrastinate,” Jughead teases, not lifting his eyes from his book. He scans through the last of the section quickly before turning to the next page.

“We’re not all bookworms like you, Jones,” she replies with a wink. “What are you reading anyway? That doesn’t look like a textbook.”

He still doesn’t look up, only lifting the book up slightly so Toni can see the front cover.

 _“Magick Moste Evile_?” Toni reads off. Her brows furrow together in confusion. “What class is that for?”

“Not a class,” he tells her. “Just a little research.”

“Oh yeah, because that definitely looks like light reading that you do on the side,” she retorts dryly, eyeing the heavy tome. It’s not a quick read, that much is certain.

Engrossed in his research, he doesn’t say anything more. Toni simply returns back to her essay-writing. His eyes scan every passage, absorbing the printed information clearly. He knows he reads fast -- it’s another reason why he excels at academics. Beyond simple speed, however, is comprehension. He’s always been able to look at words and absorb them instantaneously.

_The Dark Arts are complicated in nature. Some scholars have posited that it is impossible to ever rid of dark magic completely. Whenever a branch may suffer defeat, it will always return more dangerous and more entrancing. Dark Magic works on a transactional basis. There is payment needed to perform the magic effectively. All forms will slowly but surely be damaging to the wielder. The more powerful the magic, the more it will fracture the soul._

Jughead sighs. If they are dealing with another basilisk, it would mean that whoever summoned it must be insanely powerful -- on the level of Salazar Slytherin. He purses his lips together so that they form a tight, straight line. If it’s not a basilisk -- well then, they’d have to approach this from a completely different standpoint.

He and Betty need to talk to Ethel. Right now, she holds the key to the answers.

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The next day, after Quidditch practice, Jughead wipes the unruly strands of hair out of his face as he enters the shared common room. It’s empty so he assumes that Betty is likely studying in her room or the library or maybe some other secret hiding spot that he has yet to discover. When she wants to be left alone, she is uncommonly good at staying concealed. She’s stubborn -- he’ll give her that.

Placing the broom against the wall in the corner of the room, he starts to shed his flying gear, including his outer robe. It could definitely use a wash. With a wave of his hand, he sends it off to get laundered. Underneath his robes, he’s dressed in a maroon long-sleeved shirt and black joggers. It wasn’t the best idea to be dressed in this many layers while he was whizzing around flying. He feels like he’s sweat through everything he currently has on. Tugging the neck of his shirt up, he sniffs.

Yeah, the shirt definitely needs a wash too.

He pulls it up over his chest, abdomen and upper body exposed. With another wave of his hand, he sends the shirt off to get laundered as well. Only when he’s semi-nude in the common room does he finally realize that maybe he should be doing this in his private quarters instead of a shared space where anybody, Betty especially, could walk in. Just as he’s about to retreat to his bedroom, he hears a sharp gasp.

Well, fuck.

There, in the doorway to the common room, stands Betty Cooper. He should’ve known that she would choose this exact moment to appear in front of him again when he’s sweaty and shirtless. The universe hates him. This is just another way to torture and embarrass him in front of her a teensy bit more.

“Uhh, I was flying.” These are the first words out of his mouth and internally, he smacks himself upside the head for such a dumb opening statement.

Betty's eyes widen as she continues to stare at his naked chest, as if she’s stuck in a trance and can’t physically tear her eyes away. Unconsciously, his abdominal muscles twitch from the attention and a pretty pink color emerges on Betty’s cheeks. She’s definitely not as unaffected and apathetic as she may sometimes appear to be. The longer she fixates, the deeper the smirk on his face grows and suddenly, he’s not embarrassed at all.

If anything, he’s kind of enjoying this undivided attention.

“Polaris?” he asks.

“Ethel,” Betty finally says as she darts her gaze elsewhere and forcibly clears her throat. She stares at the wall opposite him, not sparing him a single glance. “Ethel’s awake.”

“Oh shit. Okay, let’s go talk to her,” Jughead says, taking a step closer to her.

Betty’s cheeks flush with red as she continues to look at anywhere in the room except him. “Your shirt?”

He looks down and lets out a light laugh. “Right, I should probably get dressed.”

She nods, still clearly flustered. “Yeah, that might be a good idea.”

Jughead sprints up the stairs in search of something to put on. He rifles through his dresser and it’s only then that he realizes that Betty came to find him before approaching Ethel for an interview. A wide grin breaks out on his face at this thought. She thinks of him too; it’s as much of an instinct for her as it is for him -- no matter how much she doesn’t want it to be.

With renewed determination, he throws on the shirt and bounds back downstairs.

He’s going to win over Betty Cooper.

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	8. Revelio - Reveal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest thank you goes out to Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for all her help with this chapter between brainstorming and editing. You are a gem, my love, and this story would not be where it is without you!! 
> 
> Another gigantic thank you to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for this FREAKING AMAZING header. God, it's literally perfect. It captures the mood of this chapter PERFECTLY. You talented angel.
> 
> For those that hate me after the last chapter, I hope you forgive me after this one.
> 
> The last scene in this chapter is inspired by the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice. Once you read it, you’ll know what scene I mean (at least, I hope so)!

__

_Yeah I'm sorry_  
_Bad at love, no, I'm not good at this_  
_But I can't say I'm innocent_  
_And all my friends, they know and it's true_  
_I got it bad, baby_  
_Oh, tell me you love me_  
_I need someone_  
_On days like this, I do_  
_Oh, can you hear my heart say?_  
_No, you ain't nobody 'til you got somebody_

_“Tell Me You Love Me” by Demi Lovato_

_**Eight: Revelio - Reveal** _

Jughead Jones has six abs.

Betty knows this because she stood for likely several prolonged seconds by the entrance to their shared common room, counting every single one. She would be lying if she said that she had never imagined just exactly what Jughead was hiding underneath his jumpers and robes. Everything he wears is clearly tailored -- another signal of his immense wealth; his clothes always molded his body well. Not that she was obsessing over his body or anything -- truly. She’s never really let herself look for that long, at least not like now. Never in her wildest imagination did she expect that she would ever see him like this -- so exposed, raw, and half-naked. His muscles are lean and sculpted. It’s like someone carved his chest out from stone, smoothing away any rough edges, taking care to highlight every indentation and curve.

He must’ve been exercising, likely flying or Quidditch practice. Beads of sweat drip down his chest and she watches one dip between the line of his abdomen, disappearing into the sprinkle of hair that leads to the top of his joggers. She suddenly has the insane urge to lick it off his muscles and swirl her tongue around--

Oh my god.

Did she really just stare at Jughead Jones’s stupid muscles like she was a part of his inane fanclub? What is this? She’s never been this affected like this and to this extent. She doesn’t objectify men. Most of the time, she doesn’t even notice the males around her -- needing Kevin or Veronica to point them out to her. In some ways, she’s always been a little different than other boy-obsessed girls her age. Her motivations have never been driven by infatuation and the idea of love.

What she’s feeling right now -- what she’s imagining, it’s completely foreign to her.

Something about Jughead Jones just makes her act out of character. Like when she dumbly agreed to fall into his charms and let him take her on his broom and then kiss her. Her cheeks redden at the memory and she doesn’t think she’s ever been more embarrassed than in this current moment.

She tears her eyes away and stares at a random spot on the wall. When he disappears into the staircase, she lets out a heavy breath and nearly collapses against the door behind her. She traces her fingers along the wood, trying to focus her thoughts on the grain and texture -- so, she can think of anything but Jughead Jones’ naked chest.

She lied before. There is no one at Hogwarts that is equally as nice to look at than him. This is, quite possibly, the worst time for her to make that realization. Especially since she’s spent the last two days trying to erase the memory of his hot mouth against hers. She’s tried to forget the way his heart pulsed under her touch, racing at a million miles an hour to match the pace of her own. She doesn’t want to remember how every single nerve in her body felt electrified at his kiss. His hands had been gentle as he cradled her head. His lips had been insistent but soft. He had held her like she was fragile -- like she was someone he wanted to protect.

But she can’t let herself fall for it. She had relapsed in the past -- crumbled her resolve and let herself indulge in his charms. But never again. She will not become another twittering fool that salivates over him and follows him around like a lost puppy.

He has the power to completely crush and obliterate her if she lets him. So, she can’t. She won’t.

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The walk to the infirmary is quiet.

Betty silently hopes that Jughead won’t choose this short journey to try to talk to her about what happened after rounds earlier this week. She knows the conversation will have to come eventually and a part of her is tempted to just get it over with, rip it off like a band-aid.

It’s not the confrontation part that she wants to avoid. It’s more so the Jughead-makes-her-lose-control-of-her-pragmatic-mind part that she wants to stay far away from. She can’t think around him and that, in and of itself, is a terrifying prospect. Because, what would Betty Cooper be if she didn’t have her devastating intelligence?

With another few hurried steps, they ascend the stairs and approach the infirmary doors. She steps in first, cautiously.

Ethel is sitting upright in the bed, her lower body still safely ensconced in the covers. Her brown eyes immediately travel to Jughead and remain affixed to him. Betty’s not even sure that Ethel even notices her.

“You came,” she says excitedly, a huge smile covering the entirety of her face.

Betty frowns. That’s a peculiar way to act after being petrified. Ethel pays almost no attention to her, not even when she pulls up a chair and sits next to Ethel’s bed. Jughead takes a seat right next to Betty.

“How are you feeling?” he asks gently.

Ethel reaches her hand out so that it falls at the edge of the bed, a gesture that clearly signals that she wants him to hold her hand. Jughead scoots a little closer so that he can take it. He gives her a tight squeeze before he lets go.

The smile on Ethel’s face gets even wider -- something that Betty did not think was possible. It’s like Betty’s invisible given the way that Ethel’s attention is entirely centered on Jughead right now. A small niggling feeling starts to crawl into the pit of her stomach, edging its way into her chest. Betty immediately brushes it off. She refuses to name it. It absolutely -- could not possibly be jealousy.

“A lot better. I got a lot of rest and under the careful care of Madame Pomfrey, I feel quite refreshed,” she says.

 _Refreshed?_ The word echoes inside Betty’s mind and her eyes narrow in annoyance. Ethel is definitely downplaying her condition in front of Jughead. Is she trying to impress him? Ethel shifts in the bed so that she’s sitting up straighter.

“That’s great to hear. You gave us quite a scare,” he tells her.

Ethel’s eyelashes flutter and she looks like she’s about to bowl over from happiness. All from a simple turn of words from Jughead? It’s the most bizarre thing that Betty’s ever witnessed.

“Are you feeling up to a few questions?” Jughead asks lightly.

Ethel nods, her curls bouncing around her face from the movement. “I’ll answer anything.”

Betty clears her throat, redirecting the focus of the conversation to her line of questioning. It seems like it’s only then that Ethel noticed that she was also in the room with them. Betty could be offended but she’s not. She’s well aware of the prominent position Ethel holds within Jughead’s fanclub. This is probably one of the few times that Ethel and Jughead have interacted to this extent. No wonder she’s over the moon.

“What do you remember? What were you doing before-” Betty pauses, debating her next words. “Before you were petrified?”

Ethel fidgets with the edge of the blanket, picking a stray strand out and letting it float down to the ground. Her brown eyes get teary, like it’s painful to relive the memory, and she struggles to keep her voice steady as she speaks.

“I had gotten ready for the ball with Trula and some of the other Ravenclaw girls. We were all so excited for the dance. I hadn’t gotten a chance to get dressed up like that in so long and it all seemed so romantic. Like maybe that night would be the night that I would meet my Prince Charming, like that muggle fairytale,” Ethel recounts wistfully, her eyes never straying from Jughead’s face as she speaks.

It’s very clear who she’s referring to when she says Prince Charming. Betty’s surprised that Ethel has even heard of the Cinderella story but it’s likely that it was something that came up during Muggle Studies. She snaps herself out of her thinking when Ethel continues.

“We walked to the Great Hall as a group but about a quarter of the way there, I realized I forgot my shawl and I didn’t want to get cold so I went back to grab it. At that point, the ball was in full swing and I was one of the few stragglers. I brought my camera with me and was just about to take a picture of the decorations at the entrance to the Great Hall when everything went black. I don’t remember anything else after that.”

“What happened to the camera?” Betty asks.

She sees Jughead giving her a curious glance out of the corner of her eye, as if asking ‘really, that’s your question?’ but she ignores him. Her gut tells her to ask it so she follows it. It’s never steered her wrong before.

Ethel reaches to the side of the bed as if to grab something on the floor. A small whimper escapes her lips and Jughead’s brows slant inward in concern.

“Here, let me get that,” Jughead says, walking over to the side of the bed. He picks something up and places it in Ethel’s lap with care.

Ethel undoes the linen wrapping to reveal a broken camera. It lays in a single piece but the back of it is clearly blown out and it’s mostly charred.

“May I?” Betty asks politely.

At Ethel’s nod of agreeance, Betty reaches forward and lifts the camera up into the air, her green eyes narrowing as she studies it.

“Fascinating,” she murmurs. “Can I take a look at this and then return it to you?”

“You can keep it,” Ethel tells her. “It’s not worth fixing at this point. I’ll just buy a new one.”

Ethel says this so matter-of-factly, as if purchasing an expensive Wizard camera is the equivalent of a knut -- completely insignificant. It’s another reminder of the Mugg’s immense wealth. Betty reties the linen wrapping and waves her wand once. The package disappears from sight and now rests safely on her desk, back in her room.

Jughead leans forward again and pats the blankets next to Ethel’s leg gently.

“Thank you for sharing that with us,” he tells her.

Ethel smiles again and nods furiously. “Of course. Anything I can do to help.”

“Did you hear anything? Was anything out of the ordinary as you walked to the Great Hall?” Jughead asks.

Ethel looks thoughtful for a moment, as if trying to recount her memories. She holds a hand to her head and shakes it. “It’s all a bit fuzzy but I think everything was normal. In all honesty, I was so excited for the ball that I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings.”

Well, that’s a non-answer if she’s ever heard one. Betty sighs. She knows she’s being unfair to Ethel right now. The poor girl was petrified and had just only woken up from it. It’s completely normal for her to be discombobulated and confused. She knows she’s being harsh -- definitely more than necessary.

“It’s okay, Ethel. I’m sure things will start to come back to you as you get better. Let us know if you can think of anything else,” Jughead pipes in. He offers Ethel an encouraging smile.

Betty voices her thanks as well before she stands to leave. She expects Jughead to join her but as he also stands, Ethel’s voice stops him.

“Wo-Would you stay with me?” Ethel asks Jughead with wide eyes and a quivering voice. “At least, until Madame Pomfrey returns? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Jughead seems to visibly soften at Ethel’s request and he gives her a quick nod of compliance. He moves a step closer towards Betty, holding onto her elbow as he pulls her a little further away from Ethel to give them some privacy. He has a neutral expression on his face though she can see that he’s conflicted in his eyes. His eyes have always been so expressive.

“I’ll meet back up with you after I’m done here. Maybe we can go to the library and do a little research?” he suggests quietly.

“Sure,” Betty agrees immediately. All her previous worries seem to dissipate as she looks into his eyes. She needs to focus. Whatever feelings she and Jughead may have don’t matter right now. What’s more important is to get to the bottom of this mystery. The safety of Hogwarts depends upon it.

He gives her a soft smile -- a genuine one that she rarely sees on him.

“I’ll see you later,” he murmurs before giving her elbow one last squeeze.

As Betty turns on her heel, she hears Ethel and Jughead’s quiet conversation. She doesn’t usually eavesdrop but her curiosity gets the best of her. Her ears tingle as she takes in their words.

“Did you visit me when I was here?” 

“I did. I wanted to check up on you the day after. Do you remember it?” 

“I don’t but I saw the cauldron cake and Madame Pomfrey mentioned it was you that dropped it off. It’s really sweet of you. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Of course.”

Betty rushes away with hurried steps when the reality of the statement dawns on her. Jughead brought Ethel a cauldron cake too. It’s a friendly, kind gesture.

She’s not special. He’s just a nice guy.

God, she’s been so foolish.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

When she finally returns to the safety of their shared common room, Betty practically bolts up the staircase to her bedroom. She steps through the door of her haven and closes it behind her, leaning back against it after it shuts. Voltaire greets her sleepily, lifting his head an centimeter from his entwined paws on the bed. He stretches and jumps down, winding his way through her legs in greeting before he starts purring happily. She smiles shakily down at him and scratches his ear, his ultimate weakness. After he’s gotten enough pats, he struts away. Taking in a deep breath, she steels herself from all the conflicting emotions in her heart right now. She needs to listen to her mind.

And her mind tells her that she needs to get to the bottom of this petrification mystery. So, she compartmentalizes and pushes all thoughts and feelings of Jughead to the very back corner of her brain. Nodding to herself, she pushes off the door and walks towards her desk, the broken camera wrapped in linen sitting atop it.

Betty unwraps it and holds the camera up to the light again, turning the broken thing over and over again in her hand. She’s not sure what she’s looking for but if it was a basilisk’s gaze that destroyed this camera and petrified Ethel, there should be some sort of dark magic trace on it, right?

She doesn’t know the answer.

Idly, she realizes that this situation is probably actually good training for her desired future career as an Unspeakable. Throwing the camera up, Betty directs her wand to freeze it in mid-air so she can assess it better. With a flick of her wand, the mass rotates to the angle that she commands it to. It looks normal. There’s nothing that immediately stands out to her as unusual. Some parts of the camera are warped, charred and bent in a way that looks like the camera exploded outwards. Ethel said that everything went black as she went to take a picture so that probably means she was already petrified when the basilisk’s effects were taken on the camera.

“ _Revelio_ ,” she murmurs.

Nothing.

She sighs in disappointment. She’s not sure what she expected -- the face of the basilisk to emerge from the camera? But, she had been hoping for something, some tiny bit of a clue to point her in the right next direction.

But, nothing.

She wraps the camera back up in the cloth once again and stashes it in one of the desk drawers. Running a hand through her hair, she sighs and grabs her _History of Magic_ book from her extensive bookshelf. Picking up Voltaire, she gives him a quick kiss to his forehead before she carries both the cat and the book down the stairs to settle in and do some reading in front of the fire.

Voltaire settles down in front of the fire and curls into a ball, hiding his face behind his paw. Betty flips through the book mindlessly before she lands on what she’s looking for.

_Chapter 14: The Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts._

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By the time that Jughead returns to the common room, Betty has scribbled an entire foot’s worth of notes on parchment. Voltaire is still sleeping soundly by the warmth of the fire. She hears the sound of his footsteps and looks up. Jughead stands in the doorway with a wry grin on his face, his hair in its usual disarrangement and eyes sparkling like gems.

“Is she feeling better now?” Betty asks, dipping her head back down to look at the book though she’s not reading. She wouldn’t be able to concentrate.

“She is. I left her in safe hands,” he replies.

He flops onto the couch next to her causing her to bounce slightly, interrupting her note-taking. She bites the inside of her cheek and decides not to respond. Jughead scooches closer and cranes his head so that he can read what she’s written down.

“What are you doing?” she asks, the caution evident in her voice. He’s so close to her that she can feel the heat from his breath as he speaks. His headying scent surrounds her.

“I’m reading what you wrote down. If we’re going to figure this out, we’re going to have to share notes,” he says teasingly.

“What exactly are you suggesting? That we be co-investigators?” A small smile inches its way onto her face.

“If you’ll have me,” he says softly, his voice taking on a rawer tone.

Betty breaks his gaze and drops her eyes to her notes. She inhales deeply before turning towards him, offering him a teasing smile. “You can be my assistant.”

Jughead lets out a deep, rumbling laugh -- one that sounds so genuine and authentic. It’s like all the pretense he usually hides behind has completely fallen away. He’s giving her a rare insight into himself -- something that doesn’t happen very often.

“It’d be my honor,” he says ardently.

She pushes the parchment closer to him and points to one bullet point that she marked down. “Look at this,” she directs. “Apparently, the second time the basilisk terrorized Hogwarts, they discovered one of the students was petrified through the lens of a camera.”

“Interesting,” Jughead says, his eyes darting back and forth as he reads her notes. “So, it was really similar to what happened to Ethel?”

“Very similar,” she agrees. She grabs the textbook and places it on top of her notes. With one finger, she draws a line down the page until she reaches the passage she’s looking for. “And, if you look here, you can read his testimony. The condensed version is that he was taking pictures, looking through the camera lens, and he doesn’t remember anything beyond a flash of yellow and then black.”

“A flash of yellow?” he asks.

Betty nods. “Yes, it’s widely assumed that the yellow is supposed to be the basilisk’s eyes and as soon as the student saw it, he was petrified.”

He looks thoughtful. “Ethel didn’t say anything about that. She said the last thing she saw before it all went to black were the decorations.”

“Exactly, their experiences are inconsistent.”

“What are you saying?” he asks.

“I’m saying, I’m not convinced it was a basilisk.” She knows it’s far-fetched but her instincts tell her that there’s more to this scenario that they haven’t discovered yet. The easy explanation would be that this was caused by a basilisk but something about it just doesn’t match up.

Jughead considers her words silently. “I agree.”

His answer surprises her. She thought she would’ve had to do more convincing before he saw her point.

“I checked the camera and there’s no evidence of dark magic on it. You’d think if it was a basilisk, the camera would be tainted by it.”

“I’d assume so but basilisks are so little researched and understood. We can’t know for certain,” he tells her.

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. He usually is.

Betty sighs and leans back against the couch. Then, she gets a very terrible idea.

“You’re right that there’s been very little research and understanding of basilisks. So, we need to do that research ourselves,” she poses.

“Okay, we can do that. My father sent over some books about dark magic so we can start there. I don’t know how much the books will tell us though.”

“I’m not talking about reading,” she says.

Jughead furrows his brows and looks at her with a confused expression. “Okay, then what are you proposing?”

“I want to go to the Chamber of Secrets.”

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Jughead didn’t say no.

In fact, he wholeheartedly supported her insane idea which is how Betty finds herself reading a book about parseltongue during Advanced Transfiguration. One of them will need to learn some key phrases to gain entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Initially, she had been surprised at the positive reception she received from Jughead but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she shouldn’t have been shocked at all.

They think in very complementary ways. Of course, he’d agree with an idea she has. Based on their quick conversation before they broke up the tasks they needed to complete before they entered the Chamber, it must’ve been something he had been considering as well.

Betty flips a page in her book that’s situated on her lap. She leans her head on her open palm, elbow on the desk as she discreetly tries to read the book instead of paying attention in class.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Betty Cooper is doing something in class other than listening to the professor and jotting down 10 feet of notes.”

She jolts up in her seat and hides the book under the desk before turning to Kevin and shooting him a glare. “What I’m trying to figure out right now is time sensitive so it takes priority.” She glances up at the Professor who is still droning on. “Plus, we’re learning about conjuring solid objects which is something that I already know how to do.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Kevin says with a raised eyebrow. He leans over and peeks over Betty’s shoulder. “Whatcha reading?”

She slaps him away lightly and closes the book under her desk. Betty faces her friend and appraises him. “Can you keep a secret?”

Before he can respond, she shakes her head. “What am I asking? Of course, you can’t.”

Kevin huffs, clearly offended, before he says under his breath. “Rude. I’ll have you know that I am currently in possession of several life-changing secrets that I have divulged to no one.”

“Really, like what?” she asks, amused.

He snorts. “I’m not that easy, Betty. At least buy me a firewhisky first.”

She rolls her eyes before her gaze darts back down to the book and then up at his inquiring face once again. “Jughead and I are trying to figure out what happened to Ethel. We’re doing a bit of research and investigating.”

“Really, that’s your big secret? That you’re investigating together? Even a troll could see that you two would jump at the chance to figure out a big mystery. Plus we all know that you guys will spend a ridiculous amount of time with one other whilst solving this. It’s obviously Jughead’s master plan to make you fall head over heels for him during it.”

“Are you still on that?” she hisses back.

“Until I am convinced otherwise,” he replies with a satisfied smirk. “And right now, you are not convincing me otherwise.”

“You are so infuriating,” Betty mutters under her breath, loud enough that Kevin definitely hears her.

That comment manages to deflect any more of Kevin’s teasing and the two return their attentions to the class. With a wave of her wand, Betty shrinks the book and tucks it into her school bag.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

After class, Betty pops by the greenhouse to check on the Mandrakes and how they’re progressing. It turns out that they’re maturing quite well and can be harvested within a week. After that, they’re ready for potion brewing. As she exits the greenhouse, a sheet of rain splashes against the side of the building. She mentally curses the unexpected downpour.

This type of weather is typical for the Fall, however. She casts a _Protego_ charm and runs the distance between the greenhouse and the main castle. Her vision is slightly blurred due to the protection orb which is why she runs smack dab into a hard body.

They both release their protection charms and of course, Jughead Jones is standing in front of her, seemingly completely unbothered by the rain and their collision.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he teases, referring to the multiple times they’ve literally run into one another earlier this academic year.

The drops of rain fall into his hair, darkening his already inky strands. How is it that even drenched in the rain, he can look so freaking attractive?

At her lack of response, he reaches out and grabs her hand, pulling her towards the castle. His hand is hot, contrasting sharply with the cold, wet rain. Something about his touch is so comforting and inviting. On a dreary day like today, she just wants to bury herself in the warmth of his arms.

Whoa, where did _that_ thought come from?

She’s still trying to rid herself of these unfamiliar thoughts when Betty feels him pull her under the safety of the castle so they’re no longer standing in the rain. She’s so close to him -- nearly touching in multiple spots but once they’re in the clear, she pulls away from him.

“Sorry about that,” she apologizes. “I didn’t see you.”

“It’s okay, Polaris,” he answers with a smile. “Were you checking on the Mandrakes?”

“I was,” she confirms. “I’m guessing you were on your way to do that same thing yourself?”

He nods in affirmation. It’s such a simple thing but the ground feels like it shifts beneath her feet when it hits her. He was coming to the greenhouse, in the middle of a rainstorm, to check on the Mandrakes, like her. Because he wants to get to the bottom of this mystery before anyone else gets hurt. Because he truly cares and puts this above his own self and desires. Because he’s just like her.

They’re not just complementary. They’re like two sides of the same coin.

Betty inhales sharply at these intrusive thoughts. She looks up at him and meets his gaze directly. He’s been standing in front of her, his body close to hers but not too close -- not enough that it would look suspicious to anyone that may see them. He’s respecting her boundaries.

Another twinge strikes her heart.

She opens her mouth to speak but he beats her to it.

“It’s been days, Betty,” he says hoarsely. Like it’s hard to find the words and they keep getting strangled in his throat.

Her eyes widen at his usage of her name and not “Polaris”. She can’t even remember the last time he actually called her by her name.

“I know you needed time and I didn’t want to push but I’ve been driving myself crazy imagining all the different things you could say. Can you-” he pauses and she sees his jaw tick. “I need you to tell me something. Anything.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Jughead,” she starts quietly. She interlaces her fingers together in front of her body and continues to stare into his eyes. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

He lets out a harsh laugh. “This doesn’t bode well.”

“I-” she stops herself and inhales deeply, letting the air fill and settle in her lungs. “I can’t be one of those girls,” she tells him with a shake of her head. “I refuse to be.”

“One of those girls?”

“One of those girls that you take up on your broom, you do a little trick and they fall madly in love with you. I can’t be a member of your fanclub. I won’t be one of them,” she clarifies, her voice getting heated and passionate.

The rain continues to fall around them, pounding the stone walls of the castle.

He stares at her incredulously, like he can’t believe the words that are coming out of her mouth. “What are you saying right now? You think I do that with every girl?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst from her lips. “I don’t know if you do or you don’t but I’m assuming yes, because they’re all obsessed with you. All these girls are completely infatuated with you and I can’t compete with that. I can’t give you what you want.”

“What is it you think I want?” His voice is hard, no longer strained.

“You have told me time and time again that your entire life, you’ve been under a magnifying glass. You have so many girls throwing themselves at you, wanting to be the next Lady Jones. They’d flourish under that attention. They’d actually belong in Pureblood society. But, I can’t. So, why would you want to be with me? Why would you choose me over them?”

She shouldn’t have said that much. Instantly, she berates herself but the words are out, hanging in the air. Her deepest fears and insecurities dangling in front of her, taunting her.

Jughead is quiet for several moments -- the period seemingly extending to minutes and it wracks her nerves. She needs a response from him. She feels what he must’ve been feeling for the last several days. Guilt sneaks into her chest. She shouldn’t have kept him waiting for so long. That was selfish of her.

“I choose you because you’re real. There’s no pretense with you. We can spend hours together, studying and researching in silence. My intelligence doesn’t scare you because you’re even more brilliant than I am. You’re one of the few people in this entire world that I’ve dared to show my whole self to and you don’t judge me. You take me as I am. You don’t force me to be someone I’m not -- the heir, the esteemed pureblood wizard, or the Quidditch star and heartbreaker. Do you know how rare that is in my world?”

She thinks he’s done but he’s not. He continues, plowing forward.

“I choose you because I can’t get you out of my mind and my heart. You’ve been here,” he says as he pounds his fist against his chest. “For so long now that these feelings have become an undeniable part of me.”

He takes a step closer to her and takes her hand, untangling her fingers from one another and places her palm flat against his chest.

“Listen to it -- my heart. Do you feel how fast it’s beating? It’s because you’re right here, in front of me, surrounding me. When I’m around you, I just want to drown myself in you. I have never taken another witch on my broom to stargaze. Flying gives me peace. I only share it with the people I care about. I promise you, no other witch has experienced that except you.”

He lifts his hand and brushes a wet piece of hair out of her face. “You’re my Polaris, my North star; you center me and you tilt me off my axis at the same time. You are my fixed point. You are my end and my beginning.”

It’s the same words that he used to describe the North star when they went stargazing. The breath whooshes out of her lungs and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. She stares at his face, the earnestness clear in his expression. Through the deluge of continuous rain, his visage is so clear -- his piercing blue eyes, his defined jaw, and his thick, tempting lips. Even with the chaos that surrounds her, threatening to envelop her, he is unwavering.

His voice is soft as he admits his final statement. It’s so quiet that even at this close distance, she barely hears it. “It’s always been you.”

His eyes are clear and blue. It’s the first thing she focuses on. Then her gaze darts to his parted lips -- they’re so tempting, especially knowing what he tastes like. Then it moves to her palm against his chest and she feels the repetitive thumping of his heart.

It’s beating so fast, matching the pace of hers.

"What I feel for you, it confuses me,” she finally says, her voice clear, ringing with honesty. “It frightens me. I don’t really understand it and that terrifies me even more. Logic and having a clear head drives my very being but I can’t think when I’m with you. When I’m around you, you completely engulf me and all I see is you. Nothing else gets through. If I had any sense of self-preservation, I would run in the opposite direction and not hand over this power to you. But I don’t want to stay away from you,” she admits. “I don’t think I can.”

She bites her lower lip and lets out a ragged sigh. “I really like you, Jughead. And because of that, we need to take things slow.”

A look of pure elation crosses his face and he leans down, his breath hot against her lips. “I’ll protect it, I promise.”

“What?”

“Your heart,” he answers honestly. “And mine as well. They’re intertwined.”

She looks up at him, watching as his blue eyes darken as he stares at her lips, wet from the rain. Small droplets drip down her face.

“I need to kiss you again. Tell me I can kiss you,” he demands softly, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks.

His expression is open and vulnerable. Even though his tone is confident, she can see how terrified he is of rejection. He’s unguarded, all his defenses down.

“Kiss me,” she whispers back to him.

The words barely escape her mouth before he kisses her, smashing their lips together. She doesn’t resist and he devours her mouth. He lets out a groan and the sound seems to travel down to her toes, electrifying every nerve. Gently and firmly, his tongue seeks access. She willingly gives it and he eagerly takes everything she offers. Her entire body melts into him and his arms go around her waist, supporting her. He holds her tightly, not letting her slip through his arms.

 _I would never let you fall, Polaris._ The words he said to her that night reverberate in her mind.

She's been kissed before but never like this. There's an intensity behind this that she's never experienced. Minutes pass and she leans back, breaking their kiss with reluctance. The cool night air fills her lungs as she slows her breathing, bringing herself back down from the high of kissing him.

“I don’t want to tell anybody yet. I need to build up to that. Can we just have this time to ourselves for now?” she finally asks after a few quiet moments.

“Yes,” he responds immediately. “I’ll agree to whatever you want. Just give me this,” he says, leaning down to kiss her again.

She smiles against his lips, saying against his mouth, “This isn’t slow.”

He pulls back, his arms still wrapped around her waist. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No,” she admits.

And in that moment, even with her hair and clothes still damp from the rain, she doesn’t focus on anything else except the delicious feel of his lips against hers.

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	9. Hayyahassa - Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I am currently on the other side of the world so this week and next week's update will be released a little early!! 
> 
> As always, the biggest thank you goes out to Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for her enthusiasm and support with this story. Thanks for listening to me ramble ON and ON with this and being the most helpful beta ever. Love you, my dear!!
> 
> And of course, thank you to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for this perfection of a header. IT'S SO CUTE. I CAN'T STOP SQUEALING ABOUT THE DOG CHASING THE CAT EEEEEEEE!!! Another masterpiece per usual. 
> 
> The Wormwood description is taken from [here](https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Wormwood). Moaning Myrtle’s lines are taken directly from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets film script!

_Used to be scared of falling, 'til you came around_  
_Now I just wanna stay here and fall into midnight_  
_Want nobody else now, only you feel right_  
_Time enjoyed wasted is not wasted time_  
_So stay until the morning, stay for a while_  
_I just wanna lay here and fall into midnight_  
_And fall right into you_

_"Midnight" by Alesso feat. Liam Payne_

_**Nine: Hayyahassa - Open** _

The Patronus charm is widely believed to be an incredibly difficult spell to master; it’s advanced and most wizards and witches can go through their entire magical life unable to produce any form of it.

Jughead mastered the charm in Fourth Year.

It took a few months for him to be able to cast a fully corporeal patronus. When he finally managed it, that rare sunny Winter day, his DADA Professor had stumbled back in amazement at the blue misty figure. He was the first Fourth-Year in nearly two decades that had accomplished something so monumental so early in their Hogwarts career. His predecessor was Harry Potter -- though he managed to achieve this in his Third Year.

Jughead was one of two students their year that was able to successfully cast a fully corporeal patronus.

The other student was Betty Cooper; she conjured one the week after him, effectively stealing his thunder. He should’ve been annoyed and frustrated but he wasn’t. In fact, it only served to intrigue him.

All his life, he was told, over and over again, that he was the smartest, the best, and the most capable wizard -- because he was a Jones, descendant of one of the wealthiest and oldest Pureblood families in the country.

That occurrence taught him that he wasn’t the smartest and best wizard. Not when he was faced with Betty Cooper. She’d always been better at magic. He had been given the resources to excel, having grown up in Pureblood society. His parents threw their money at helping him develop his magical talent, years before he started attending Hogwarts. He had a tutor in every single OWL subject before he even opened his first textbook. His magic was molded through his privilege -- hers existed because of her raw talent.

Fourth Year was also the same academic year where they were paired up in Herbology. He should’ve known then that it wouldn’t be the last time that Betty Cooper would eclipse him in aptitude. He didn’t hate it -- in fact, he desired it.

He loved the competition. He loved riling her up, watching the way her fists would clench at her sides when she was annoyed. He enjoyed getting under her skin because it was exciting to be noticed by someone like her -- someone so brilliant, so pure, and so different from every single person he’d been surrounded by.

Fourth Year was the year that he realized that she was remarkable. It was also the year that he started to become entangled in a web that he had no desire to escape.

The first time that Jughead witnessed Betty performing the Patronus charm, he knew then, almost instantaneously, that he was lost. She had been so graceful, conjuring the patronus almost effortlessly, the magic flowing through every part of her body and out her wand.

Betty’s patronus is a cat that looks astonishingly similar to her real-life furball, Voltaire. His is a dog, specifically an Akita.

When the dog first exploded from his wand, he had been confused and curious. He’d never seen a dog that looked like that before. It had short hair, pointy ears that reminded him of a fox and deep, piercing eyes. Later, when he did some light reading about the breed, he found that Akitas are fiercely loyal, friendly to those that they love, and not the biggest fan of strangers. Plus, they love chasing cats.

He’s never heard of a more accurate description of himself.

The memory that he had chosen to use to conjure the Patronus was the first time that he flew on a racing broom. It was his tenth birthday and his father had gifted him one from the newest line of the Nimbus Racing Brooms. The model was the fastest broom available on the market. He and his father had flown around their grounds for hours that afternoon.

It was one of those rare days where his father was actually at home, not working, and completely sober instead of drowning himself in alcohol like he typically was. Even at Jughead’s young age, he was painfully aware of his father’s vices.

It’s a happy memory -- the happiest that he could remember ever experiencing.

However now, after finally kissing Betty Cooper and holding her in his arms, he thinks he’ll use this moment as his happiest memory. His hands are firmly around her waist, his fingers gripping her sides tightly, like if he loosens his hold on her, she’ll slip right through his fingertips. He lowers his mouth down once again, taking her lips for the third, maybe fourth, time.

It still feels like the first though. It’s all so exhilarating and he thinks he’s already easily addicted to this feeling: her hot breath against his mouth, the softness of her plush lips, and the unique taste of cinnamon that invigorates all his senses. It’s spicy and enticing.

He nibbles her bottom lip, signaling that he wants her to open her mouth. When she doesn’t, he bites down on her lower lip, not too hard but firmly enough. She gasps at the action, a shocked yet pleasured whimper escaping her. It’s the opening he needs and he thrusts his tongue into her mouth, devouring her relentlessly.

He wants more. He needs more. With her, it’s never enough -- he’ll always desire everything she’s willing to give to him.

It’s getting late. He knows he should pull back and end this kiss. But a part of him, the part that’s winning the internal battle right now, is a selfish bastard. It’s rainy and it’s cold. If they stay out here for any longer, they could get sick.

He needs to stop. But it’s so hard when he finally has Betty Cooper in his arms.

Jughead pulls back reluctantly, savoring the dazed expression on her face. He whispers a warming charm and it instantly dries their clothing and hair.

“Thanks for that,” she murmurs. Her lips are swollen and perfectly pink. She looks delightfully ravished and innately, he’s so fucking satisfied that it’s because of him.

It takes every bit of willpower in him not to lean back down and capture her lips again.

“Let’s get back to our quarters,” he suggests.

“Okay,” she agrees without any resistance.

It’s a rainy, gloomy day so they don’t see a single soul as they return back to their dormitory. He never lets go of her hand as they walk; the entire time, he half-expects her to pull away.

But she never does. His heart soars.

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For reasons unbeknownst to him, when they finally return to the safety of their shared common room, Betty insists on doing more research. This is how Jughead finds himself sitting on the couch, begrudgingly reading the dark arts books that his father had sent him. His plan was much more fun than Betty’s which involved making out in front of the fireplace.

But like so many times before, Jughead gives into her and lets her win.

As he skims each page of the tome at a rapid pace, the information is inputted into his brain but he’s not really processing and understanding the words. Instead, his thoughts are focused on her warm body next to his, her legs draped over his lap. His left hand draws small circles on the top of her foot as he loses himself in the softness of her skin.

Everything about her body feels like the antithesis to his own: her soft hair versus his coarse strands, her delicate, pale skin contrasts to his tanned, olive complexion, and her hands are unblemished and smooth while his are roughened with callouses. She is exquisite -- the embodiment of soft, graceful curves. He’s all hard lines and edges.

He finds himself completely enamored with these differences. He counts every single one, savoring them.

He’s drawn from his thoughts by her sweet voice. “Wormwood. Why is that familiar?” she murmurs.

She looks up at him, her cheeks pink from embarrassment. “Sorry, I talk when I’m thinking sometimes.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, closing the book and setting it on the table in front of them. His hands return to her legs as he continues to stroke the exposed skin lightly. “What were you saying?”

“I’m reading this passage about healing potions and they mention Wormwood. Why does that sound familiar?” Her brows furrow in concentration as she looks down at the page and then back up at him.

He feels a pang in his heart; his chest tightens as he watches her, the corners of his lips tugged upwards unknowingly as he thinks about how adorable she is when she’s trying to focus.

“What does the book say?”

“ _Certain Dark Arts cannot be fully healed and will cause scars regardless of the potency of the healing potion. To counteract this, Wormwood is typically added to healing potions to increase efficacy. Wormwood is a very bitter herb and a popular ingredient in many healing potions as well as draughts and elixirs. It has a wide range of uses and is known to be antipyretic, anthelmintic, tonic, and hallucinogenic. It is most commonly known as the primary ingredient in Draught of the Living Death and Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Muggles also use wormwood leaves in medicine_ ,” she reads off.

Jughead nods. “That makes sense. Father always keeps a large batch in stock. It comes in handy if he ever needs to brew a healing potion.”

“Right, I know the usages for Wormwood but I’m forgetting something. I can feel it,” she says before she bites her thumb.

His eyes follow the action and he has the urge to rip her hand away from her lips and replace them with his mouth. His control unravels and he leans forward and takes the book from her hands, dropping it onto the floor. He relishes in the surprise coloring her face. Before she can say anything else, he pulls her body onto his lap so she’s straddling him.

“What are you doing?” she breathes out. “We’re supposed to be researching.”

Jughead’s hands come to hold her waist and it takes all the willpower in his body to not thrust up into her, showing her just how affected he is by her delectable body and her nearness. He pulls her head down and their lips crash together in a heated kiss. They did what she wanted for most of the night, now they’re doing what he wanted all along. She doesn’t hesitate to melt into the kiss and he can feel her smile against his mouth as their tongues clash, pushing and pulling back and forth.

His hand cradles her head as he intertwines his fingers through the golden silk of her hair. She tilts her head up, giving him more access and permission. He trails wet kisses along the curve of her face and down her neck, continuing to consume her, like a man starved.

He’s wanted this for years -- _years_. And now that he finally has her within his grasp, he can only give into his basest instincts and possess her, like she’s possessed him all along.

Suddenly, she wrenches her mouth away, panting for air, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Professor Malfoy.”

Jughead rears back in shock, confusion and what feels suspiciously like betrayal, crosses his thoughts before he plasters his familiar smirk on his face -- his age-old defense mechanism. Does she even realize that she holds his heart in the palm of her hands?

“Not the name I wanted to hear come out of your mouth, Polaris,” he comments, his gaze firmly affixed to her face.

Betty’s eyes widen and she blushes deep red at the realization of what she just uttered. “Oh.”

Her hand flies up to cover her mouth. “Not like that. Eww,” she says as she scrunches up her nose in disgust. “No, I mean, the Wormwood. It was missing from Professor Malfoy’s stores at the beginning of the year. Remember, you told him that he was out of Wormwood and he bit your head off. That’s what I was trying to figure out before.”

She’s still firmly on top of his lap and he adjusts the way he’s sitting, carefully ensuring that he’s not hitting her at the angle that his body desperately wants him to.

“I must be a horrible kisser if that’s what you were thinking about,” he teases, the grin returning to his face, this time genuine.

She slaps him lightly on the chest, her hand unconsciously grazing his hardened muscles. “You know I can’t turn it off, right?”

“What?”

“My brain,” she whispers before she places a fluttering kiss on his lips.

“Should we add this to the list then?” he asks.

“List of what?”

“List of places we’ll be breaking into.”

Betty pulls back and shakes her head. “We’re not breaking in,” she corrects indignantly. “We’re investigating. It’s for the good of Hogwarts!”

“Pretty sure it’s still called breaking in if we’re there when we’re not supposed to be.”

“Semantics,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“Is that what you’re going to tell the Headmistress when we’re caught and facing expulsion?” he asks, his tone still light.

“That will not happen,” she guarantees. “Besides, I’m sure she would understand.”

“Right, because Headmistress McGonagall is the most understanding person I’ve ever met,” he says dryly.

“Be nice!” she says with another smack to his chest. “Also, your lack of confidence in our sneaking around skills is highly disheartening.”

Jughead brushes a strand of her hair out of her face and kisses her cheek, then her nose, and then her chin. Her breathing gets heavy once again as she stares at him.

“Stop trying to distract me,” she murmurs.

“Never,” he promises.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The next morning, Jughead wakes up with a giant smile on his face. _He kissed Betty Cooper. Multiple times actually. They’re something now. They’re everything._

Even with the threat of a new villain at Hogwarts, his mood can’t be dragged down. He gets ready in record time and straightens his red and gold tie over his grey sweater as he walks down the stairs. He stops short when he sees her.

Betty Cooper is waiting for him.

He’s lived with her for months now but this is the first time that he’s ever seen her in the common room before breakfast and classes. She’s hard to pin down and she almost never frequents the Great Hall during meal hours. She turns around as he approaches and flashes him the biggest smile.

It completely disarms him. He finds himself unable to come up with a single thing to say, no matter how much he wants to force words through his mouth and not look like a complete bumbling idiot.

Betty Cooper, standing here with the morning light streaming through the windows, highlighting her golden hair, is the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his entire life. She’s just about to open her mouth to greet him when he strides over to her, cradles her head gently, and gives her the sweetest kiss. He keeps it short, knowing that she probably doesn’t want to be mauled first thing in the morning.

When he pulls back, he memorizes the dazed expression on her face: her closed eyelids are fluttering with movement and her lips are still slightly parted, like she’s welcoming him back for a second kiss. He takes in the curve of her shoulder and the lithe line of her collarbone -- every sinuous part of her body entrances him.

“Good morning,” he murmurs.

Her eyes snap open; today, they’re a vibrant green, darker than usual from desire. Seeing that emotion reflected in her orbs brings him so much satisfaction. She can’t hide her feelings from him like this -- not when she’s encircled in his arms. She can’t deny the pull that they have towards one another. She’s just as affected as he is.

“Hi,” she breathes out. She takes a step back and straightens her jumper before she nods at the door. “Shall we?”

He gestures for her to go ahead and follows her dutifully. Just as she’s about to exit the door, he tugs on her arm and pulls her back. She smacks into his hard chest with an audible oomph. Before she can protest, he leans down and gives her another deep kiss.

When he finally pulls back, he licks his lips, savoring her taste. “Just needed one more.”

Betty giggles -- something he’s never heard her do before -- before she schools a serious expression on her face. Wagging her finger at him, she dictates, “You need to behave out there. Promise me.”

“I will, Polaris. I promise.”

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

He keeps his promise and behaves himself while they walk to breakfast, a difficult feat but one that he manages to accomplish. As they’re about to enter through the doors of the Great Hall, he brushes his hands by her robes but she’s just out of reach from his grasps. His fingertips graze against the wool.

She skips towards the Slytherin table, sparing only a single look back at him. A small smile graces her face -- it’s one that he likes to think she reserves only for him. The corners of her lips are barely upturned but she can see in her expression that it’s authentic.

He winks at her. It has the desired effect. Almost immediately, her cheeks flush with pink before she scrambles away from him, likely needing the physical distance.

As he approaches the Gryffindor table, Reggie, Fangs, and Toni are already sitting on the bench, shoveling breakfast foods into their mouths like there’s not a never-ending supply of food available. Jughead sits down across from Reggie, giving the group a nod that signifies a greeting. While Toni and Fangs argue about the best plays for the Quidditch match against the Ravenclaws next weekend, Jughead silently eats his breakfast, ignoring the pointed gaze Reggie is directing towards him.

“Did she like it?” Reggie asks before he takes a big bite of the almond croissant he’s holding.

Jughead could play coy or ignore him but he knows his friend well enough. If Reggie wants to talk about something, he won’t give up or stop pushing until they’re talking about it. He scoops a large serving of eggs onto his plate before he stabs at it and takes a bite.

“No,” Jughead replies simply.

“Why not?” It sounds suspiciously like a whine.

Jughead narrows his eyes and shakes his head sharply once. “Didn’t do it yet. The timing wasn’t right.”

“What the hell are you waiting for? You need to follow through with my brilliant idea,” Reggie says with a scoff, as if he’s offended.

“I will eventually. You don’t know her like I do. She’s a flight risk.”

“Who’s a flight risk?” Fangs asks curiously. He and Toni both turn to face their friends with questioning faces.

“Uhh,” Reggie fumbles. “This girl I like.”

Jughead’s eyes continue to narrow and he kicks Reggie under the table, swiftly injuring his shin.

Reggie grunts as he tries to smother his groan. “I like this girl and I didn’t know what to do to get her attention. But my brilliant buddy, Jughead, here gave me a great idea. It’s one of the best I’ve ever heard. And, I’m going to do it,” Reggie responds, shooting Jughead a glare as well. “Soon.”

“What’s the idea?” Toni asks as she sips her pumpkin juice. Luckily, she seems to be only half paying attention to the conversation and hasn’t picked up on the weirdness between Reggie and Jughead.

Jughead opens his mouth to speak when Reggie butts in, interrupting him.

“Flowers, of course,” Reggie explains. “Girls love flowers.”

“Girls do love flowers,” Fangs agrees with a nod. “Who’s the lucky witch?”

Reggie stammers for a moment. Jughead smirks because he can see that his friend is visibly uncomfortable as he tries to redeem himself.

“Yeah, Reg. Who’s the lucky girl?” Jughead reiterates, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Uhhh,” Reggie stutters out, his brown eyes furiously searching the Great Hall for someone, anyone at this point. His eyes land on a familiar blonde ponytail. “Betty Cooper?”

He suggests it as if it’s a question. Jughead’s jaw immediately tightens.

“What?” Toni exclaims.

“Excuse me?” Jughead grits out.

Toni’s eyes immediately dart to Jughead; they widen in surprise. “Did you say Betty Cooper?”

The glare Jughead has been shooting at Reggie returns with force and deepens. He grips the edge of the bench he’s sitting on so he doesn’t fly across the table and strangle Reggie. They’ve been friends since they were toddlers. It is not a good idea to cause a scene right now and punch his face in -- no matter how much he wants to.

“She seems nice,” Fangs offers with an awkward smile, seemingly blissfully unaware of the underlying tension.

“Yeah,” Jughead bites out before he continues to grind his teeth. He runs his hand through his hair -- a tick that shows nervousness and frustration.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Later, as Reggie and Jughead walk towards the Quidditch pitch for practice, Jughead drags Reggie back forcefully so they’re separated from the rest of the team.

“You couldn’t have said any other witch’s name?” he hisses.

“They caught me off guard!” Reggie defends though at least he looks bashful and apologetic. “You know it means nothing dude. I’d never go there.” He claps a hand around Jughead’s shoulder. “You’re my best friend. I’d never do you like that.”

“I know,” Jughead replies grumpily, the annoyance bubbling inside him only mildly subsided.

“Are you done being jealous?” Reggie asks with a teasing smile.

“I’m not jealous,” he mutters.

“You know, I’d never thought I’d see the day,” Reggie starts.

“What?”

“You like this -- all riled up and jealous. You’ve never been this affected by anyone like this before. It’s like the complete opposite of your typical composed and stoic facade.”

Jughead pauses for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

Reggie squeezes his shoulders again. “It’s a good thing, man. It makes you more human and compelling. It’s okay to have feelings.”

Jughead rolls his eyes before he shoves him away, giving him a smug smile. “You’re getting soft, Mantle.”

“Just following your lead, Jones.”

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Pretending that he didn’t kiss Betty Cooper for the majority of last night is harder than he thinks it’ll be.

It’s almost impossible for him to not notice or interact with her. Every time his heart wants him to reach out and brush the hair out of her face or lean down and kiss her neck gently in the middle of class, his brain steps in and forcefully stops his body from acting.

Betty treats him exactly the same. He’s impressed at how unaffected she appears to be as she goes about her regular day, bouncing from class to class. He knows the whole point of this charade is so that she can ease into their relationship; so that she’ll be more comfortable with one day accepting that they’re meant to be together. But a part of him is still peeved that there’s not a single crack in her surface.

She’s completely unbothered. And that bothers him so much -- so much more than he’d like to admit.

As his day winds down and he exits his last class, he’s grateful that he has practice tonight so he can unwind before he meets up with Betty to try to break into the Chamber of Secrets. His thoughts feel disjointed and his body can’t contain all his energy as he strides out of the classroom -- this is so unlike him.

It’s almost like withdrawal. That would make Betty Cooper his addiction.

A soft, saccharine voice breaks his train of thought. He slows his steps and turns around, surprised to see Ethel dressed in her usual uniform, holding a few books tightly to her chest.

“Ethel,” he says as he recovers quickly. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you,” she replies with a bright smile. “This is my first day back. It seems so strange to go back to classes after what happened.”

“I’m sure.”

She fidgets and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Have-have you been trying to figure out what happened?”

He returns her smile at these words. “Am I that predictable?”

“No,” she replies hurriedly, her eyes widening at the thought that she may have offended him. “Not at all! It’s just, I know how much mysteries intrigue you.”

“I can’t deny that.”

She doesn’t say anything for several prolonged seconds and his expression turns concerned. “Ethel, are you sure you’re alright?”

“You are so sweet,” she tells him, her voice shaky and tinged with emotion. “If you’re trying to figure things out, perhaps we can team up? I’d love to get to the bottom of this and find out who did this to me.”

His immediate thought is no. He and Betty will figure it out.

Something that feels a little like guilt pangs in his chest and he swallows his words, wanting to rethink them and be careful about what he says. He knows how Ethel feels about him. She’s always put him on a pedestal but none of that is reality. She’s enamored with a fantasy -- not the real him. But that doesn’t mean he wants to be cruel or callous with her feelings. He doesn’t want to hurt her. No matter what anybody says about him -- he does care about people. He always has.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says honestly. “You have a personal stake in this. You were targeted. That means you won’t be able to think without bias clouding your judgment. Plus, you need to heal. Being petrified takes a lot out of someone. You should take care of yourself first.”

Ethel stares up at him with her big brown watering eyes. She bites her lower lip before she nods. “You’re right.”

“I will find out who did this to you, Ethel. I promise you.”

“I know you will,” she replies, never breaking her gaze from his handsome face.

“I have to get to practice but I’m glad you’re feeling better. Keep it up,” he encourages.

He turns on his heel and starts to move backwards, giving her a wave of goodbye. Not waiting for a response, he runs down the hallway towards the pitch, knowing he’s already late for practice.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

In all the years that he’s been attending Hogwarts, Jughead has never been into the Second Floor Girls Lavatory. Like many other students at Hogwarts, he made a point to avoid it because of Moaning Myrtle’s spectre.

Yet, now here he is.

Jughead pokes his head around the corner to the entrance, his blue eyes searching the interior to see if the ghost is haunting the premises. He knows no students would be here -- that’s practically a given.

“What are you doing?” Betty asks from behind him, amusement evident in her voice.

“I’m making sure you-know-who isn’t here,” he whispers back, craning his neck to see further into the bathroom.

“Voldemort?” Betty scrunches her nose up in confusion.

“No, he’s dead. Well, I guess this Myrtle is too,” Jughead says with a shrug.

“So, because I’m dead I don’t have rights?” A screeching high-pitched voice emanates throughout the entire bathroom, sending shivers down his spine.

“Oh shit,” he mutters.

“You’ve done it now,” Betty tells him with a grin.

She pushes him behind her and for a moment, he wants to chase after her touch but he stops himself. With confident steps, Betty walks into the lavatory and greets Myrtle with a gentle smile.

“How are you doing today, Myrtle?” she asks kindly.

Myrtle pauses between her incessant crying and sniffles loudly before blowing her nose. “What is he doing in here?" she hisses.

Betty turns around and sees that Jughead has also stepped into the bathroom. She gives a shake of her head and swipes her hand against the air in a “stop” motion, halting his movements. Suddenly, he feels like he’s intruding on something that he’s not supposed to.

“Sorry to be in your way and bother you. We can always come back if you want us to leave.”

Jughead startles at Betty’s words. That is not what she said when she insisted that they needed to investigate the Chamber of Secrets before another person was attacked. He cautiously tilts his head up to look at Myrtle, not wanting to offend her any further. The ghost visibly softens at Betty’s words.

Who knew Betty Cooper was so good at communicating with ghosts?

“What are you looking at, huh?” Myrtle demands, redirecting her gaze at Jughead. He at least has the smarts to appear sheepish and takes another step back.

“You think it’s fun to stare at ugly, miserable, moping, Moaning Myrtle?” She continues her tirade and ends it with a shriek before she disappears into a stall and dive-bombs into the toilet, causing a torrent of water to splash all over the floors.

“You’re such a charmer, Jones,” Betty says dryly with a raised eyebrow.

Jughead lets out a raucous laugh, his arm coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I usually fare much better but I don’t think she really gave me much of a chance.”

“Are you disappointed that a female isn’t susceptible to your charms?” Betty asks teasingly as she fiddles with the snake-engraved sink tap.

Before Jughead can answer, she pushes down on the silver snake and the sink begins to move, disappearing out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed. Betty looks down into it.

“Hello,” she calls out. Her voice echoes down the pipe until gradually, it fades into nothing. She turns and gives Jughead a grin. “Are you ready for an adventure?”

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The corridor leading to the door of the Chamber is filthy. It’s filled with cobwebs and layers and layers of dust, appearing as if it’s been untouched for several years. Jughead runs his finger down the stone wall and grimaces when he sees upclose just how dirty the surroundings are. He murmurs a quick _Scourgify_ to clean his hand.

Betty coughs as she walks, holding her sweater up to her nose so she doesn’t have to breathe in too much dust. Jughead moves his arm back and forth in a swiping motion to get rid of any cobwebs in their way. When she coughs for the second time, he stops them and rips a large piece of his outer robe off. Then he splits it in two and hands part of the cloth over to Betty.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

They cover their faces with the cloth, which makes breathing a tiny bit easier. It’s better than nothing.

“Never thought I’d be here. What an exciting evening activity,” he says with a grin.

Betty ignores his commentary as they approach the entrance to the chamber. Several elaborate and ornamental snakes curve around the door. Betty leans forward and touches one of the snakes.

“Covered with dust again,” she says, showing him her blackened finger. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before she speaks. “ _Hayyahassa_.”

They both stare at the door. Jughead inhales sharply when he sees the snakes start to move, slithering against one another as it unlocks and slowly opens.

Betty turns back to face him and lets out a small giggle. “It worked.”

He stares at her for a prolonged moment before his face breaks out into a grin. “Is it weird that you speaking Parseltongue was kind of hot?”

She rolls her eyes and tugs on his arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

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	10. Stupefy - Stun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter until the new year! I am taking a hiatus for the holidays. See you all back here on January 8th! Hope you all having an amazing holiday!
> 
> The biggest tackle hug and thank you goes to Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for all her help with this chapter and story. Seriously, I can't even tell you how many times a week I message her and ask for help. You are the best, my love!
> 
> Another gigantic thank you to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for another GORGEOUS header. LOOK AT THE SEXY BUGHEAD. Hahahaha you can probably already guess what happens next. I love you, darling!! 
> 
> The end scene is dedicated to Anna ([edamamechips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edamamechips/pseuds/edamamechips)) because she is a DOLL and sends me all the Henry Cavill gifs to inspire my smut muse. She’s like a smut fairy.
> 
> In case it's not clear, there's smut at the end. If that's not your thing, skip the last section of this chapter.

__

_Tell me something I don't know_  
_And lead me to the place where no one ever goes_  
_Let me go under your skin_  
_Let me find the demons that drive those heavenly limbs_  
_You know you're beautiful_  
_But that ain't half the gold treasure in your soul what you got 'cause I want it all_  
_With your fingers in my mouth, I fail to see your faults_  
_So please don't let me fall_

_“Beige” by Yoke Lore_

_**Ten: Stupefy - Stun** _

Speaking Parseltongue when you don’t really understand Parseltongue is a strange feeling. She’s recited a few key words in her mind and out loud, repetitively, until she’s memorized them by heart. The word feels heavy in her mouth. She rolls it around, tucking into a back corner before she finally speaks. Then she emits a low hiss which causes the mechanisms in the door in front of them to unlock.

She did it. Holy shit.

As the heavy door starts to creak open, whining on its hinges, she takes in a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever they find next. The normal response for this moment would probably be fear and uncertainty. But she doesn’t feel any of those things.

Instead, she feels excited -- the anticipation bubbling up inside her for what they might find next. Mysteries have always intrigued her. Growing up, she voraciously devoured any and all muggle mystery novels that she could get her hands on. She would read them in secret, knowing that her mother did not necessarily approve of such interests.

But that part of her -- the part that is always insatiably curious about the unknown never went away. It’s become a part of her now. Does that make her strange? Yes, it likely does. But she’s never cared about fitting in.

When she turns her head and sees Jughead following closely behind her, there’s no uncertainty in the pit of her stomach or doubt gnawing at her. There’s only calm and the unwavering belief that he will protect her, just as she will protect him. With him, she feels safe.

Betty cautiously steps through the hallway leading to the main chamber. Jughead’s body is near hers, to the point that her arm grazes him with every step he takes. She reaches out her right hand and intertwines it with his. He offers her a small smile and they walk into the main chamber together.

It’s a huge cavernous space lined with towering pillars. At the far end is a large statue of Salazar Slytherin with his mouth wide open. They continue to walk towards the structure until they’re only a few feet away. Betty gestures at the opening.

“That’s where the basilisk used to reside.”

Jughead’s gaze follows hers, his face hardening and his lips forming a straight line. He holds his wand up and with a quick flick, yells out, “ _Revelio!”_

Nothing appears.

He takes another step closer and points his wand once again. “ _Stupefy!”_

Nothing again.

“That stun doesn’t work on a basilisk,” Betty tells him, her hand on his outstretched arm as she lowers it. “They’re resistant to most charms and hexes. It’s been speculated that only dark magic could harm them so maybe one of the _Unforgivables_ would be effective against them but we know for certain that they only answer to those that speak Parseltongue. It’s the only way to control them.”

“Still worth a shot,” he replies with a shrug. Then he turns to her curiously. “Is that why you’ve been learning a new language?”

“Of course, I’d do anything to get the upper hand if we actually encountered one,” Betty answers. She points her wand at the darkened space. _“Lumos Maxima.”_

The light blasts from her wand and suffocates any bit of darkness left in the enclosure. She points it up and down, searching through the entirety of it before she extinguishes the light.

“Nothing,” she says.

“Come on, let’s look through the rest of this place.”

Betty follows his lead and they continue to explore the rest of the dismal space. They approach a narrowed passageway that she barely fits through. Jughead has to duck his head as they wind through, ensuring he doesn’t collide with the ceiling. After traveling down the path for several minutes, they hit a dead end. A metal grate blocks their way but peeking through, Betty can see the rest of the chamber and Salazar Slytherin’s stone visage. This place is less a chamber and more a prison -- it’s somewhere that housed pure evil.

Even as she walks through now, she can still feel the presence of dark magic. It hangs heavily in the air, threatening to choke any unsuspecting victims.

“What is this place?” she asks, unable to keep the shocked horror out of her voice.

“A nightmare of terrors,” he answers. He nods in the direction from where they came. “Let’s go back.”

As they head back towards the main area of the chamber, they find additional small passageways that stem from the primary artery. Betty stands in front of the space and lifts her wand, casting another bright light. She does this for each and every single of the multiple paths.

They’re all empty. There’s nothing here. There hasn’t been anything here for a long, long time.

When they’re finally done, Betty shudders and brushes the cobwebs and dust off of her clothing. “Goodness, this place is absolutely filthy. It looks like it’s been completely untouched for years, maybe even decades.”

Jughead doesn’t answer for a few seconds, appearing distracted. “Hmm, yes.”

She turns to look at him curiously as they walk back out towards Salazar Slytherin’s statue. “Are you alright?” Her tone turns teasing. “What? Is investigating the basilisk’s den boring you?”

His gaze snaps to hold hers and he quickly shakes his head in denial. “No, it’s not that.” He pauses again and this time, with each second that passes, Betty starts to feel anticipation again building up within her stomach. Except this isn’t the good kind. This is the kind that she fears.

“We’re playing against Ravenclaw next weekend. Would you want to come to the game?” Jughead asks.

Her eyes widen in surprise. Of all the things that she would’ve thought would bother Jughead Jones, she did not anticipate this would be one of them.

“Go to the game?” She scrunches up her nose in confusion. “But your game is against Ravenclaw, not Slytherin.”

“I know,” he answers sheepishly. “I was hoping you might want to come. Fresh air and all. I’ve heard that’s quite good for you.”

“I-,” she pauses for a moment, her brow furrowing. “Is that a good idea? I mean, I barely attend the Slytherin games. Wouldn’t it look a bit suspicious if I suddenly showed up randomly at a Quidditch game when my House isn’t even playing?”

Jughead visibly falters for a moment, his entire body stiffening. She sees the crack in his armor and instantly, she feels guilt for what she just said. She’s so bad at this kind of thing.

Almost as suddenly it appears, it disappears. He rearranges his face and plasters one of his signature charming smiles on. When he speaks, there’s not a single hint of him being upset or disappointed. “Of course, Polaris. What was I thinking? Forget I asked.”

“Wait, no,” she says with concern. She reaches forward and grabs his hand, interlinking his fingers through her own. She squeezes his hand. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” His shield remains unwavering as he looks down at her.

“Don’t shut me out,” she replies quietly. She bites her lower lip and lets out a sigh. “Jughead, do you want me to come for you?”

He regards her silently and it takes everything in her not to fidget uncomfortably from his piercing stare. Then finally, he answers her.

“Yes, selfishly yes,” he tells her. With his free hand, he runs it through his hair, leaving a disheveled mess behind. “I know you don’t want to draw attention to us but I play better knowing you’re there, watching me and supporting me.”

She flashes him a teasing grin, squeezing his hand again. “You know you’ll have half a stadium of students and fans cheering you on.”

“They’re not you. Is it so wrong of me to want you there?” he asks, his voice pained, as if it’s difficult to be this honest with her, to expose so much of his heart.

Betty rubs her thumb soothingly across the top of his hand and leans in towards him. “Okay, I’ll come. But, I’m hiding.”

The smile that spreads across his face is so wide and beautiful. It exudes happiness and she thinks that if she can make him smile like that every day, she might be doing something right with her life.

“Thank you.”

Then he kisses her so sweetly, sending tingles down her spine, reaching so far that she even feels it in her toes. Though they’ve only been together for a short period of time, she’s already started to catalog the different kinds of kisses that they share together. There’s the powerful possessive kind -- the one where he completely dominates every single sense in her body, overtaking her. Then, there’s the quick peck -- a short and sweet kiss that’s still one of her favorites. There’s the deep and intense kind where she thinks he gives her when he doesn’t know how to say everything he’s feeling.

And then, there’s this kiss. It’s sweet, soft, and so gentle that she thinks she can fall into the comfort of his arms forever. It’s warm and makes her feel so protected and safe.

How does he do this? How does he elicit these types of emotions with something so simple as a kiss?

He pulls back and gives her one more quick kiss to the nose. It’s only then that they seem to come back down to earth and realize what their surroundings are.

“Let’s get out of here, Polaris.”

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Bright rays streaming through her window create lines of light on her bed and across Betty’s face. A small moan escapes her lips as she stretches and opens her eyes, rubbing them with her fists. How did she get in bed?

She doesn’t remember going to bed last night. The last thing she remembers from the prior evening is her and Jughead reading and researching by the fireplace, a familiar scene. She must’ve fallen asleep while reading. He probably brought her to bed and tucked her in again.

She sits up in her bed and pushes stray strands of her blonde hair out of her face. Voltaire sleeps at the foot of her bed, curled up into a circle, hiding his face behind his paw. Even as she moves the covers out of the way, he never stirs, happily continuing to rest. As she’s about to get out of bed, she stops, seeing something resting on her nightstand.

Grabbing it, she turns it around in her palm as she surveys it from all angles. It’s a bouquet of flowers -- purple ones. It’s stunningly beautiful, delicate petals shaded ranging from lilac to violet to royal purple. It’s too precious to be something that was conjured from a spell. Curiosity gets the best of her. Reaching her hand out, she says, _“Accio Herbology book.”_

A thick compendium flies into her hands and she opens the book, flipping to the correct section. Tracing her index finger along the page, she flips until she finds what she’s looking for.

_Delphinium: This beautiful perennial’s origins date back to the 1500s. It blooms in a variety of hues. Muggles believe that each color variation holds a different meaning. Pink represents fickleness, white means a happy nature, and purple represents a first love._

She knows it’s hard for him to open up and talk about his feelings, likely because he grew up in a surrounding that shunned that type of thing. It’s almost as if Pureblood society considered affection and love a weakness. She understands how it feels -- it’s equally as hard for her to translate her feelings into words. But through his actions, she understands how deeply he cares for her.

He didn’t pick just any flower -- purple delphiniums, specifically. It conveys everything that he struggles to put into words. She pauses for a moment and expects something along the lines of panic or uncertainty to bubble up within her but it doesn’t. The only thing she feels is happiness.

It’s a sweet and romantic gesture. Perhaps some would consider it trite and hackneyed, but coming from him, it’s endearing. She holds the bouquet up to her nose, inhaling deeply. They smell floral and fresh, like the outdoors.

With a flick of her hand, she conjures a vase and fills it with water, putting the flowers in the glass. She adds another few spells to ensure that the flowers will live a long life.

Then she starts to get ready for her day with the biggest smile on her face.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Dressed in a gray sweater, deep green skirt, a silver and green tie, and wool stockings, Betty descends the steps into the shared common room. Jughead sits on the couch, looking deep in thought, an open book resting in his lap. Something in her stomach flip flops as she takes him in. He’s wearing a black sweater that fits nicely, molding his muscular chest, and black slacks that highlight his strong thighs and legs.

He looks delightfully scrumptious and it takes everything within her to reel in her desires.

She approaches him with a smile and wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him atop the head. “Good morning,” she murmurs.

He turns back in her hold and leans up to kiss the line of her jaw. “Good morning, Polaris.”

Jughead grins at her before he grabs hold of her body and in one swift movement, pulls her onto the couch so that she’s seated on his lap. He cradles her body, his hands tightening around her waist.

The unladylike squeal escapes her lips at his actions and she slaps his chest lightly. “You could’ve just asked me to sit down, you know.”

“What’s the fun in that?” he asks before he captures her lips, kissing her softly. When he finally pulls back, he sighs into her mouth. “I’ve missed these lips.”

“It’s only been a few hours. You saw me last night.” Despite her protests, butterflies erupt in her stomach at his words. She missed him too, even if she would never admit that to his face.

“Doesn’t matter. I always miss you regardless.”

She smiles at this and kisses him gently, hoping he understands what she’s trying to convey. She rests her head against his chest and lightly traces her fingertips over his forearm. Closing her eyes, she listens to his steady heartbeat pounding against her ear. It calms her so much. Being with him, encircled in his arms, is so easy and safe.

“Thank you for the flowers,” she says, not opening her eyes quite yet.

“I’m glad you like them.”

“You’re spoiling me with all these romantic gestures.”

“Well, this one I can’t take full credit for. Reggie’s been bothering me for weeks to do it.”

Her eyes snap open at his words and she sits up, removing herself from his touch and sliding a bit away from him. She’s no longer on his lap but their thighs are still touching.

“You told Reggie about us?” she asks, unable to keep the bewildered accusation out of her tone.

“No,” he answers immediately before he amends his statement. “Sort of. He knows about my feelings. So does Toni, I gather. The last thing I told Reggie was that we kissed and then you jumped off the broom. He doesn’t know anything else.”

She visibly relaxes and her shoulders slump from relief. “Please don’t say anything to him.”

“I won’t,” he starts, “but you know I will need to tell him eventually. We can’t keep this a secret forever.”

“I know,” she replies, biting her lower lip in doubt. “Things are so good between us right now. It’s so easy and we can just be ourselves without any outside pressure. I’m not ready to face it quite yet.”

She inches a bit closer and he pulls her body to his, bringing her snugly against his chest once again. She turns her head and looks up at him, memorizing every facet of his sapphire eyes. “Besides, I kind of love our little bubble right now. Don’t you?”

“It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, Polaris,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to her hair. “Everything and more.”

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Jughead and Betty walk to breakfast in comfortable silence together. Right before they enter the Great Hall, they separate themselves to be a safe distance away from one another and walk in, each going to their own tables without looking back. It’s a practiced routine that they’ve mastered after these two weeks of being together.

Betty sits down at her usual table and immediately, her goblet is filled with pumpkin juice. Mentally, she thanks the house-elves for always knowing her breakfast preferences. She takes a sip and looks up, cursing herself that she’s not sitting on the opposite side of the table. From this vantage point, she has a clear view of Jughead at the Gryffindor table. He’s chewing a mouthful of something and catches her gaze.

He winks at her and her cheeks tinge pink as she smiles and looks down. When she chances another glance at him, he discreetly leans forward on the table on his forearms, waggles his eyebrows, and sends her the most devastatingly charming smile. She gives him a pointed look before it crumbles and a small laugh escapes her. She immediately quells it, returning her attention to the plate in front of her, ignoring Josie and Veronica’s questioning looks. At the very least, their backs are facing Jughead so she knows they didn’t witness any of their interactions.

They’re like sharks in the water, out for blood. Immediately, Betty senses it. She remains calm and poised, smiling brightly at her friends before taking a small bite of some scrambled eggs.

“How are you both this morning?” she asks politely.

Josie squints at her for a calculated moment and ignores Betty’s attempt at small talk.

“What’s happening here?” Josie asks, cocking her head to the side and waving a hand in a circular motion in Betty’s general direction.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you flushed? And smiling?” Veronica questions.

“I am doing neither of those things,” Betty returns firmly. She schools a neutral expression onto her face as she continues eating breakfast as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

Veronica narrows her eyes in suspicion before she gives Betty a smile that signals “checkmate”. She stabs a piece of cantaloupe and takes a delicate bite. Betty already knows that she’s not going to like the next words out of her best friend’s mouth.

“Bettykins,” Veronica starts, “I heard the most interesting rumor the other day.”

Josie smiles at this, likely because she knows exactly what Veronica is about to bring up.

“I heard from some unnamed sources that Reggie Mantle has a crush on you,” Veronica poses innocently, her brown eyes taking in Betty’s every single detail.

Betty remains unfazed. “By unnamed sources, do you mean Kevin via Fangs Fogarty?”

“Perhaps. I’m not at liberty to disclose that information,” Veronica responds, flicking some of her dark raven hair over her shoulder. She leans forward. “You don’t have anything to say to that? That’s two of the most eligible bachelors from two of the most prominent Pureblood families that are interested in you.”

Betty shrugs though internally, she makes a note to ask Jughead about this interesting development. She has a feeling it’s a misunderstanding because there’s no way a heartbreaker-slash-ladies man like Reggie Mantle would ever have any interest in her. Especially not when he and Jughead are bosom buddies. Reggie is a lot of things but untrustworthy is not one of them; he’s fiercely loyal to his Gryffindor friends and Quidditch team.

“The only thing I’m interested in right now is solving the mystery of what happened to Ethel and preparing for the upcoming examinations before the Yuletide holidays,” Betty states matter-of-factly.

Veronica gives her a “I’m not convinced” look but lets the subject drop. The conversation moves onto less pressure inducing topics. Mentally, Betty lets out a sigh of relief. Her friends know her well -- sometimes, too well. It feels strange not telling them everything; they usually don’t keep secrets between them.

But she considers the alternative and decides it’s for the best. But still, the guilt is there, hanging over her.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Later in Transfiguration, Betty is bent over her desk, re-reading how to cast the charm for human transfiguration. She repeats the incantation under her breath repeatedly, paying close attention to the inflections. Most of the class is reading over their notes or focused on their textbooks. With the semester end examinations coming up soon, the Professor graciously gave this class period over for study and practice.

When Betty feels Kevin poking the side of her leg with his wand, she’s not surprised that he’s not studying. Instead, he shoots her a grin and sidles up next to her.

“You look extra lovely today, my dearest friend,” Kevin says with a honeyed voice, smooth and rich. She recognizes it as the tone he uses when he wants something from her that she’s not willing to give.

“Come on, out with it,” she mutters, her eyes still focused on her open book. “I already know what’s coming.”

“Are you dating someone?” he asks intently, his eyes lasered in on her reaction.

She sighs. This is the second time today that her friends have insinuated at this. Clearly, she needs to get better at hiding the effects of being with Jughead. Continuing to scribble down a line of notes, she gives him a confused look.

“Dating someone? No, why would you think that?” she returns steadily. It’s not a complete lie. After all, she and Jughead had never discussed labels. The words “we’re dating” have never been spoken so it’s really just a version of the truth that she’s telling Kevin right now. A stab of guilt hits her stomach but she suppresses it.

Kevin sits back in his chair, deflated, and crosses his arms. “I was so sure that Jughead finally made a move but I guess not. It’s why I didn’t think anything of those Reggie-liking-you rumors.”

“Can you please let that go? Clearly, it’s not going anywhere.” She glances at him out of the corner of her eye and sees that her friend seems to be visibly bothered by Jughead’s supposed inaction. It’s rather sweet that Kevin cares so much about her romantic life. Before Jughead, she certainly never did.

“What about you? I’m sure your dating life is way more interesting than mine. Considering mine is non-existent.” Also not a lie. She has never gone out on an official date with Jughead. The stargazing does not count. Neither does the studying or researching. Or the times where they’ve shared hot cocoa in front of the fireplace and talked. None of those were considered official dates.

Kevin launches into a long-winded morose explanation about how it has been dismal lately. There is a small gay community at Hogwarts and most people are paired up already, which makes dating almost impossible. He’s hoping that post-graduation, his luck will turn. Though, ever the optimist, he still has his eyes set on Fangs Fogarty.

“I just want to lick his chest. Is that weird?” Kevin asks suddenly.

If Betty had been drinking something, she would’ve spit it out, unable to hold back her surprise. Her initial response is no, it’s not weird since she had been thinking about doing that to Jughead’s chest only weeks ago. Instead of saying that, however, she straightens in her seat.

“Is that it or are you interested in the brain behind the brawn?” she teases.

“Oh, definitely both but I get very distracted when I’m talking to him. Sometimes I just want to stare at his beautiful face and chest. Then I lose my train of thought and I just come off sounding dumb,” he laments.

“Maybe this means you should just move to the making out phase. Release some of that pent-up tension,” she states matter-of-factly, her mind wandering to her own image of Jughead’s beautiful chest. He really does have a great chest -- perfectly symmetrical and ideally delineated. He’s toned and muscular but not overly so. When she’s lying against it, he makes her feel content, her mind at ease and rest. It’s calming. Not many things in this world are capable of that.

“Why, Betty Cooper, are you suggesting that I drag him into that dark corner in the 3rd floor hallway and have my wicked way with him?” Kevin’s salacious words bring her out of her thoughts. “Through careful research methods that will remain undisclosed, I have determined that the furthest corner in the 3rd floor hallway, right after you leave the West Tower, is the prime location for undisclosed activities. It’s perfect for an exhibitionist like myself,” he says with a wink.

She flushes, her overactive imagination now focused on dragging Jughead into a darkened corner during rounds and seducing him. She doesn’t think he would mind all that much. Recovering, she smacks Kevin lightly on the arm. “You’re a prefect!”

“And I’m telling you this, not as a prefect to the Head Girl, but as your best friend. I’m just saying that there are certain things that every student should do before leaving Hogwarts. Getting frisky in a darkened corner of the castle hallways is definitely one of them.”

“You must’ve already planned on it if you have that readily at hand as a suggestion,” she says with a raised eyebrow.

“Perhaps but you’re missing my point,” he whines.

“No, I got your point but I’m just not acknowledging it.”

“You’re the worst best friend in the world.”

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That evening during rounds, the only thing that keeps racing through her mind on a continuous loop is pulling Jughead into that dark corner Kevin suggested. They start on the top floor of the castle and make their way down. It’s been a slow night. She’s assuming most students are stressed and studying instead of trying to release their anxieties in other ways. She doesn’t blame them. If she weren’t required to do rounds this evening, she’d likely also be studying. They haven’t encountered a single student out of bed, past hours.

Jughead is quiet as well, likely matching her own reticence. She’s started to realize that he does this a lot -- matching what he does to reflect her. She never really noticed it until recently but since she started paying attention, it’s occupied the forefront of her mind. They walk side by side, not touching, but their robes and hands grazing one another’s every so often. True to his word, he’s been extremely respectful of keeping his distance when they’re anywhere in public.

“I heard an interesting rumor today,” she says, breaking the silence.

“What’s that?” He turns towards her and her entire body buzzes from something unfamiliar. He is so attractive. It’s distracting.

“Reggie Mantle has a crush on me?” she asks, her voice taking on a lilt towards the end.

“Oh that,” he grits out. His jaw ticks. “He’s the worst at lying and thinking on his feet. Ironic considering how he has the fastest response time during Quidditch.”

He goes on to explain the scenario about how Toni and Fangs caught him and Reggie talking about Betty and the flowers during breakfast and that was how Reggie recovered from the surprise.

“His heart is in the right place,” Betty tells him with amusement. “He seems like a great friend. I’m glad you have him.”

“He’s one of the good ones,” Jughead says honestly.

They continue to discuss innocuous topics after that. As they take the stairwell down the East Tower to the third floor, nearing the end of their rounds, a nervous anticipation starts to build in the pit of her stomach, traveling through her body, setting her sense aflame as they get closer and closer to the area that she and Kevin had just been discussing earlier this afternoon during class.

She peers at Jughead sneakily from the side and takes in his sculpted chest and muscles, so deliciously evident even hidden behind his school robes. Their steps and pace match one another’s perfectly, as they so often do, until hers slow. She stops in the middle of the hallway, her eyes darting towards the darkened corner.

Kevin was right. It really was the perfect nook. If she hadn’t known the exact location of where it was, she would’ve completely missed it.

“Polaris?” Jughead asks curiously, cocking his head to the side and watching her carefully through his steady gaze.

It melts the last bit of hesitation within her as she grabs him by the hand and tugs him into the corner. With more power than she’s even aware she has, she pulls him further and further into the darkness so that they’re completely camouflaged from the main walkway. Pushing him up against the stone, she doesn’t have to offer him any explanations.

He already knows. He always seems to know exactly what she’s thinking.

He bends his head down and his lips capture hers as she pushes her whole body against his, her every curve pulled into him, her touch melding against his. They fit so perfectly together -- like two puzzle pieces. His hands, big and coarse, come up to cup her cheeks. He swipes a finger across her cheek and she relishes the rough touch, savoring it and she continues to push and pull with his mouth.

She never thought she’d be here, with him, kissing him and holding him like this. They come from such different backgrounds and maybe, on paper, they don’t make sense. She’s always been told that she was too much -- too driven, too focused, too academic or career-obsessed, too boring, too outspoken, her blood too impure.

She’s heard it all and she’s always forced herself not to care. But when Jughead holds her like this, kisses her like this -- all of that background noise fades away. None of that matters. What matters now is what’s between them -- this electric energy that crackles, threatening to tear her apart. He makes her feel treasured and desired.

It’s the best feeling in the world. No words can truly describe it.

Her fingers come up to his tie and she loosens it before her hands move under his sweater and her fingers splay across his muscular abdomen. It twitches and pulses against her touch. He’s hard underneath her -- everything about him, physically, is firm and lean. But emotionally, he’s so soft and affectionate -- something she never would’ve expected.

He continuously surprises her and keeps her on her toes. She loves that about him.

Jughead’s arm comes down to the back of her bare thigh and he caresses her gently, each touch sending a shiver down her spine. He hooks her leg around his waist and turns suddenly, executing his lightning-fast Quidditch trained skills, and pushes her against the wall. Her back presses up against the stone but even then, he’s so careful with her, ensuring that none of his touches are too harsh.

She wants to make him lose control. It’s something that he wields so carefully but some innate part of her wants to see his chaos.

Her other leg comes up around his waist and she interlocks them behind him, pushing his hardness right up against her center. He grinds against her, almost as if his body is unable to control it, too lost in the feeling.

She throws her head back and his lips immediately attack her throat as he leaves small bites and kisses on her porcelain skin. When he gets down to her collarbone, he puts in more pressure, as if the control is slowly slipping through his fingertips. It’s what she wants.

She wants him to leave a mark. She knows that goes against everything she’s been saying to him about discretion but this desire is primal. It goes beyond logic and rationality. She should be terrified but she’s not. She knows if she tumbles over the edge, he’ll follow her readily.

He sucks, nibbles, and laves his tongue over a spot just below her collar bone fervently. A satisfied moan escapes her lips and she runs her hands into his hair, pulling at the strands. He groans in pleasure and the pressure from his tongue grows. He lifts her up and slams his body into hers.

She giggles at the impact and their eyes meet. She’s sure she probably looks like a mess -- hair in disarray, cheeks flushed, and lips swollen but the way that he looks at her, it makes her feel like she’s the most beautiful witch in the world.

He places a soft kiss on her lips before his mouth moves to her ear. He whispers and her body tingles from his hoarse voice. “Feel like breaking the rules tonight, Polaris?”

“Aren’t we already?” she murmurs back, dizzy with want.

“How about one more?” he asks, his tongue sneaking out to curl around the shell of her ear. He nibbles at the lobe. “Do you trust me?”

Betty pulls his face back to face her and she looks intently into his eyes. “Always,” she tells him, echoing the sentiment that he expressed earlier this academic year.

Based on the way his blue eyes darken and molten, she knows he remembers.

One hand trails down to her parted legs, his fingers caressing the inside on her thighs. She bites her lower lip and stares at him, knowing exactly what he’s asking for -- permission. Nodding furiously, she lets out a prolonged moan as his long fingers trace her center delicately.

“So wet for me.” The sound of his hypnotic voice sends shivers down her spine and she opens her legs further, welcoming him.

He starts slowly and with each touch and caress, she can feel the pressure building in her stomach. He focuses on her clit and massages it. Then, he pushes one finger inside her and she gasps at the intrusion. He pumps in and out of her. She looks down at watches as his digit disappears inside her body with perverse pleasure. He inserts another finger and she shoves her face into his neck, breathing him in, small gasps tumbling from her lips.

“Do you like me touching you like this? Giving yourself to me?” he asks. His tone is measured but she can hear the fire that rages beneath his cool facade.

When she doesn’t respond, he leans forward, continuing to fuck her with his hand, and bites down at her exposed shoulder. The slight pain mixed with immense pleasure sends her over the edge and she feels her orgasm crash through her in waves. It’s never been that intense before.

She takes in big gulping breaths and when she finally opens her eyes, she hazily sees him licking his fingers, cleaning off her essence. It’s the hottest thing she’s ever seen. He offers one finger to her, tracing her bottom lip. Greedily, she sucks his finger into her mouth and tastes herself on him.

It’s intoxicating -- everything about him is so intoxicating. She knows she’s falling for him. It’s like a freefall, her entire body weightless as she goes down. She can’t stop it -- the momentum is too fast. She doesn’t want to anyway.

_I would never let you fall, Polaris. Trust me._

His words echo in her mind. It’s too late. She’s already falling. She just hopes that he can catch her.

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	11. Salvio Hexia - Protective Ward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELCOME BACK!!!!!! I've missed everyone so much!! This chapter is extra long and contains some sexy times so I hope it was worth the wait!! 
> 
> As always, the biggest thank you goes to Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for being the most wonderful, supportive beta ever. I love you, darling!!!
> 
> And also to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for this STUNNING header. It's MAGNIFICENT!!!!
> 
> Harder, better, faster, stronger -- did I reference a Daft Punk song? WHY YES, YES I DID.

__

_And you've seen all my darkest fears_  
_Like you've known me for a thousand years_  
_The boy who's really underneath_  
_All the scars and insecurities, baby_  
_I swear that you've been sent to save me_  
_You're the only one that my heart keeps coming back to_  
_It's always been you, it's always been you_

_“Always Been You” by Shawn Mendes_

**_Eleven: Salvio Hexia - Protective Ward_ **

Jughead hasn’t seen Betty in close to 36 hours now and it’s been driving him insane. The occasional glances they sneak one another during class and meals in the Great Hall don’t count. They’ve both been ridiculously busy as the semester winds down between preparing for exams and researching the petrification mystery. As such, it means that they often miss one another between his early morning practice sessions and her late nights studying in the library.

Anytime he thinks he has a free moment, Reggie and Toni drag him back to practice for the upcoming game with Ravenclaw this weekend. If he never sets his eyes on another quaffle for the foreseeable future, it’ll be too soon. He’s lost track of how many hours he’s practiced today. Pretty much immediately after the bell signaled the end to his last class of the day, Reggie had forcibly dragged him away from the castle and towards the Quidditch pitch.

Reggie can be a bit obsessive when it comes to Quidditch. Jughead understands. His friend is interested in pursuing the sport as a professional career so Gryffindor’s performance in his last year at Hogwarts factors greatly into whether or not Reggie will have a shot post-graduation.

Needless to say, he’s been a bit of a tyrant these last few days leading up to the game.

“Let’s run that play again,” Reggie demands, his voice booming through the sonorous charm. Jughead can see that his friend is still cursing to himself, likely criticizing the players’ lackluster performances. They’ve only been getting worse and worse as the night drags on endlessly. Everyone’s physically exhausted and burnt out.

Toni lets out an annoyed sigh before she turns towards Jughead. “At what point should I put a stop to this?”

“Uhh.” Jughead pretends to look at the non-existent timepiece on his wrist. “About three hours ago.”

Toni groans and throws her head back in frustration. “He’s like the energizer bunny on steroids with no off switch.”

“I didn’t understand any of that,” Jughead comments wryly. Over the years, he’s started to pick up on popular muggle references that Toni occasionally throws out. Whatever she just said are all brand new allusions.

Toni rolls her eyes, her pink tinted brown hair flying into her face as she mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “purebloods”. She nods towards Reggie. “He’s not going to like this.”

Not waiting for a response, she whizzes over in Reggie’s direction. Jughead watches with amusement as the two have a very heated conversation to which Reggie waves his hands around his face manically, trying to prove his point. Toni gives as good as she gets, her voice raised and determined. This is the exact reason why Jughead had no interest in being captain of the Gryffindor team this year. While it would never be truly possible for someone with his name and title to blend into the background, he’s never made an effort at garnering more attention than what was absolutely necessary. Being the center of focus is exhausting.

The heated argument that Reggie and Toni are currently having, whilst the rest of the team looks on with concern and apprehension, is exhausting.

After another few minutes, Jughead’s pleased to see that Toni seems to have won the fight and they’re all dismissed.

It’s late, past ten thirty in the evening. His muscles scream out at him due to overuse with each step he takes. Times like this, he wishes apparition was possible within the halls of Hogwarts. It’d be so much faster than having to painstakingly walk back. Eventually, he manages to stumble through the front door of his shared quarters. Mindlessly, he starts to strip himself of his Quidditch gear as he enters the common room.

He freezes mid-action when he sees her. There, asleep on the couch in front of the fireplace, is his Polaris. She has a book open in her lap so he gathers that she must’ve been reading before passing out from exhaustion. Quietly, he rids himself of the rest of his Quidditch gear, storing it in the back corner of the common room as he usually does. Underneath it all, he’s clad in simple black joggers and a long-sleeve black shirt.

Making his way over to the couch, he leans down and admires her calm face for a moment. She’s so peaceful like this. It kills him to ruin it but he knows that she wouldn’t want to spend the whole night, cramped and sleeping on the couch. He brushes the hair out of her face and cradles her chin, murmuring her nickname.

“Polaris, wake up.”

With each soft caress he gives her, it seems to draw her out of her sleep. Hazily, she turns towards him and blinks her eyes open. Emerald green eyes meet his gaze and it knocks the wind out of his chest. She’s so beautiful. She’s always so fucking gorgeous, even half-awake with dazed eyes and tousled hair.

“Welcome back,” he says teasingly.

A smile graces her face as she shifts on the couch, stretching her arms above her head. The action causes her jumper to tug upwards and his eyes focus on the tantalizing sliver of exposed skin of her abdomen.

“I was waiting up for you. I don’t even know when I fell asleep.” She closes the book on her lap and sets it on the table.

“Did you miss me?” he asks with a giant grin on his face.

She slaps him on the arm half-heartedly before she rests her head against the cushion. “Where have you been all night?”

“Practicing as always,” he tells her grimly. “Reggie’s been on a rampage. He’s nervous about the game with the Ravenclaws. I think ever since the Slytherins slaughtered us in the first game of the year, he’s been on edge. He doesn’t want any more losses this season.”

“I’d apologize on behalf of my House but that victory was well-deserved and a long time coming,” she replies honestly with a shrug.

“Agreed, the Slytherin team played well that day. I think Alessia Zabini might be the best seeker we’ve seen in a really long time. Archie’s ego is still bruised from that game.”

They continue to chat about Quidditch for a while with Betty struggling to keep her eyes open. He knows Quidditch isn’t exactly her favorite topic to talk about. When her eyes flutter close for the third time, he nudges her shoulder and places a kiss on her forehead.

“You should get to bed.”

“No,” she whines. “I’m totally awake. Plus, I did a bunch more research about petrification that I wanted to go over with you.” Betty pushes her shoulders back and stands up, getting a good look at him for the first time this evening. “Jeez, you look like you got run over by a mack truck.”

“What is with all the muggle references today?” he mutters. “This is what happens after a ridiculous amount of practice.” He points at his battered and exhausted body. “I’m going to take a nice, hot shower and then fall into bed. Can we postpone the research talk for tomorrow?”

Betty’s cheeks redden at his words and amusedly, he wonders if she’s now imagining him naked in the shower. His gaze narrows and her blush deepens. Yeah, she’s definitely picturing him naked.

“D-Do you need help?” she asks hesitantly. When she realizes what she just said, her eyes widen as she hurriedly corrects herself. “Not like that! I mean, help with easing the tension in your muscles. Maybe a back massage? It’s about time I return the favor.”

Jughead raises an eyebrow and a satisfied smirk appears on his face. Before he can make an inappropriate comment, she pushes past him towards the stairs leading up to his private room.

“Unless your next words are praise for how selfless and considerate I am, I’d refrain from saying anything lest you’d like me to retract my offer.”

Jughead watches her flounce up the steps, book in hand, and follows her slowly, taking each step with a pained groan. However, his muscle soreness can’t ruin his mood. Just being around her makes him so ridiculously content.

Without another word, he follows her. He’d follow her anywhere.

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Jughead doesn’t own a pensieve.

He knows many witches and wizards do, finding it useful to be able to replay any memory at any given time. However, he’s never needed one -- not with his perfect recollection. However now, with Betty Cooper standing in the middle of his room, her long blonde hair cascading down her back as she curiously takes in all the details of his living quarters, he wishes he had one. That way, he could replay this image over and over again, forever remembering how he felt in this moment -- when she entered his room for the first time.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says as he gestures towards the bed.

Pulling his shirt over his head, he waves his hand, sending the garment to get laundered. It disappears in an instant. Hearing a small choked gasp behind him, he turns around, amused at the way Betty can’t seem to tear her eyes away from his naked chest.

“Do you want to join me, Polaris?” he asks suggestively.

She shakes her head furiously, her cheeks flushed to a deep red that he’s never seen on her before. Shooing him off, she hops on his bed, curling one leg under the other as she opens the book and returns to her reading.

He lied. This is the memory he wants to capture and replay over and over again in his head. She looks angelic as she reads intently, her brow furrowing with concentration. She sucks her lower lip in, nibbling it as she focuses.

Fuck.

He needs to take a very cold shower.

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After the fastest freezing shower he’s ever taken in his life, he towels off and dries himself off with a charm. Hurriedly, he pulls on his pajamas and bursts out of his bathroom, ready to spend some quality time with Betty after being deprived of it for so long.

Except she’s sleeping.

Curled up in a ball, book still splayed out in front of her, Betty rests soundly. Her breathing is even and steady, her chest rising up and down with each intake and exhale. While a part of him is disappointed that he wouldn’t be getting a massage or the chance to talk to her, he’s mostly just happy that she feels comfortable enough in his room that she fell asleep.

That action, in and of itself, speaks volumes for how far they’ve come. She trusts him. It means the world to him.

He debates what to do between the two options. He could either carry her to her room and risk waking her or he could tuck her into his bed. The latter is the most tempting even though he knows, logically, this would be a significant step forward. One that he’s not entirely sure she’s ready to take.

She has said, repeatedly, that she wants to take things slow. So really, he should bring her to her own bed. But the thought of her warm body curled up next to his for the evening is so enticing. A better man would be able to resist the urge and temptation.

He’s never claimed to be that.

Careful as to not wake her, Jughead removes the book from the bed and sets it on his desk. Then, with even more gentleness, he lifts her up and tucks her under the covers. He settles into the bed next to her, a safe distance away. Even here, he can feel the warmth emanating from her body.

It’s comforting and reassuring -- two things that he values most in life because he was never able to indulge in that in his childhood.

It would be creepy to watch her sleep. So, he should definitely not do that. His brain yells this internally many times over but his body seems to move on its own accord. Shifting slightly, he turns on his side and rests his cheek against the pillow. The bed dips with his weight and it causes her to stir. She also turns on her side, matching him even in her sleep. From this angle, he can memorize every contour of her face: her milky pale skin, her long eyelashes resting against her face, and the curved rose of her cheek.

He falls asleep to this image and the sound of her rhythmic breathing. It’s the most peaceful sleep he’s had in over a decade.

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Jughead’s always been a light sleeper. He’s lost count of the endless nights where he would toss and turn in his bed, struggling with insomnia. When people behold him in their judgment, they see the facade that he presents -- his unparalleled intelligence and stoic nature. Behind it, it’s night after night of racing thoughts, a constant incessant barrage that he can’t stop.

_“You know I can’t turn it off, right?”_

_“What?”_

_“My brain.”_

Jughead doesn’t think Betty even realized how accurate her statement was when she said it. So viscerally, he understands. He’s the exact same way and experiences it on a nightly basis. He can’t turn his brain off either.

It doesn’t bother him usually. He’s so used to it by now that he doesn’t even notice it. At least, not until that he spent a night cuddled up next to Betty Cooper. For the first time in his entire life, his mind is still and quiet. It’s at rest, relishing in peaceful contentment.

She stirs first.

Somehow, in the middle of the night, their bodies gravitated towards one another. Betty shifts in his arms and his eyes slowly crack open. The first thing he sees is gold. Something like gossamer surrounds him and sporadic rays of sunlight filters through it, hitting his face at different angles. The familiar scent of black orchids and plums floods his senses, cocooning him. Then he feels something tickling his nose. Sputtering, he spits out the hair that somehow made its way into his mouth.

That wakes her up.

Betty turns to face him as her eyes flutter open. His arms are still wrapped around her body and he wonders if he should extract them. What would help quell her alarm in this situation? He braces himself.

“Good morning,” Jughead greets hesitantly, searching her green eyes for any sort of reaction.

“Good morning.” Her voice is neutral, carefully controlled. He’s not sure if it’s because she’s almost on the verge of a mild panic attack or if she’s genuinely calm. Her gaze darts around, focusing on his face, then the bed, then their bodies’ close proximity.

“Are you freaking out?” he asks cautiously.

“A little,” she admits honestly. She stares up in his eyes and he feels how tense she is against him. “But I think it’s fading.”

Betty rests her head against his chest. He feels her body noticeably relax as he rubs small circles against her back. His brain files it away that this gesture seems to calm her down.

“What happened last night?” She yawns and her nose scrunches up in the most adorable fashion.

“You insisted on giving me a massage, barged into my room, and then proceeded to fall asleep on my bed,” he recounts wryly.

She snorts into his chest. He looks down at her, loving the carefree and happy expression on her face. It’s not often enough that she’s like this, that he’s like this. He cherishes every moment of it.

Betty snuggles further into him. “I really don’t want to get up.”

“I don’t either.”

“Can we just stay like this then?” she asks softly, her voice already drifting off as she slips back into slumber.

Jughead pulls her even closer. “Always.”

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The day of the big game against Ravenclaw, Jughead crawls out of bed ridiculously early. He’s the first one on the pitch, beating even the team co-captains. Gripping his broom tightly, he ascends into the air and starts to run drills around each of the goal posts, curving in and out through them.

It’s a chilly morning. The sun peeks above the horizon line and its rays barely filter through the crowds. The wind starts to pick up around him, lashing at his cheeks with every move he makes.

“Oy Jones!”

Looking down, he spots Toni waving at him. He’s not even sure how long he’s been practicing. He always loses himself and a sense of time when he flies.

“Something on your mind?” Toni asks curiously as he nears her, still hovering in the air on his broom.

“Why do you ask?”

“You fly when you need to think. I know you’re not out here practicing for the game’s sake. We’ve had enough of that this week. Plus as much as I don’t want to stroke Andrews’ ego, he’s a better seeker than Garfield Davies so we don’t really need to worry as much as Reggie has been.”

She says the name as if it tastes strange in her mouth. “Also who names their kid Garfield? The poor sod never had a chance with a name like that. It’s as if we’re stuck in the nineteenth century.”

Jughead snorts indelicately. “Most Purebloods are.”

Toni hops on her own broom and circles him before cocking her head to the side as she watches him. “You seem happier lately.”

“What?” he asks, keeping his voice neutral, his face blank. She tosses a ball at him, whipping it fiercely. He catches it with ease before it can go through the goal post. Raising an eyebrow at her, he hurls it back towards her with full force.

Toni captures the quaffle with little effort. “I won’t pry. It’s not like you’d tell me anything anyway if I did. But, keep it up. I like seeing you like this.”

His lips twitch upwards in a smile but he molds it back into an impassable line. “Duly noted.”

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

He’s not concentrating.

He knows he’s playing like crap right now. If he didn’t have the self-awareness to pick up on it, he would’ve gathered it by the way Reggie is currently fuming at him as he yells at Jughead to pay attention and stop playing like a flobberworm flailing as it tries to take its last breath.

It’s a very specific insult.

Jughead knows his friend is right. He’s already let in three goals in the last hour and a half while Archie and Garfield chase one another around the pitch, desperately searching for the golden snitch. His performance thus far is nothing like how he usually plays. He’s distracted and he’s letting goals in when he should be blocking them.

Yet again, his penetrating gaze searches the crowd but that familiar head of blonde hair, wrapped in green and silver adornments, is nowhere to be found.

She said she would come. He hates that he feels as much disappointment as he does.

“Jones, come the hell on!” Reggie bellows as another quaffle whizzes by Jughead. This one hits the side of the goalpost and falls to the ground, instead of through and scoring the Ravenclaws another ten points.

“What’s gotten into you today?” Reggie demands as he hovers on his broom next to him. He calls a time-out.

“Didn’t sleep well,” Jughead lies.

“Well, you can nap all you want later, after we win. Now get your head in the game. We’re counting on you.”

Guilt pangs him and Jughead nods at his friend, knowing he needs to snap out of it. The game drags on for another thirty minutes and in that time period, he’s managed to successfully block all the attempts the Ravenclaws had at scoring.

It takes everything in him not to search the stands for her. He shouldn’t let her lack of presence affect him so much but the dejection continues to gnaw at the pit of his stomach, festering.

The Ravenclaws are in formation, charging at the Gryffindor goalposts with their next play. He sees it coming and does a backflip in the air, slamming the quaffle away from the target.

The crowd roars alive with excitement and the entire stadium is set alight elated frenzy. He hears his fanclub screaming his name in delight. Like always, it does nothing for him. He’s never paid them much attention.

In the distance, across the field, Reggie smirks at him, as if saying “fucking finally”! He tips his head at his friend before he turns his broom around to get back into his original position.

It’s then that he spots her.

If it weren’t for the sunlight hitting the bleachers at the right angle, he would’ve completely missed her. Betty stands in the shadows, a wide smile on her face as she claps along with the rest of the crowd at his save.

She came. She’s been here all along. He’s a monumental idiot.

Jughead breathes in sharply as she catches his eye and realizes that he’s been staring at her. She waves at him, a warm smile gracing her face. Even dressed in thick outer robes and the cutest emerald green fuzzy hat, she looks delightfully delectable. It takes every fragment of control within him not to fly towards her and gather her in his arms. She mumbles something and he sees the glamour charm around her fade away.

She’s wearing his scarf -- the one with red and gold stripes that he had given to her all those weeks ago. She’s here and she’s wearing his colors.

A wildfire of emotions rushes through him -- elation, adoration, desire, need, possession. His scarf is wrapped around her neck and she’s never looked better. Even though he’s the only one that can see it, he can’t help but feel the satisfaction she is inarguably his.

It’s the best fucking feeling in the entire world. A Quidditch victory pales in comparison. This rush -- this knowledge that she’s here for him and solely him, is everything.

He knows he should stop staring at her and pull his gaze away before anyone else catches on. His fanclub especially has always watched him like a hawk. Betty grins at him before she motions for him to return his attention to the game.

Jughead winks at her before he turns around. He plays harder, better, faster, and stronger.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

They win.

After a grueling three hour game, Archie Andrews finally manages to catch the snitch, ensuring Gryffindor’s victory over Ravenclaw. Reggie and Toni drag him to the Gryffindor common room for celebration and inebriation. He takes a few shots of firewhisky with his teammates. Within thirty minutes, almost every single person at the party is completely trashed.

The crowd is mostly Gryffindors but there’s a handful of Ravenclaws present despite their crushing defeat. He spots Cheryl Blossom and Toni canoodling in the corner, Cheryl firmly on her girlfriend’s lap. Across from them, David Corner appears to be trying to catch Ethel Muggs’ attention but clearly failing. She turns away from him and talks to Trula instead.

For once, no one seems to be fixating on him, too caught up in the haze of alcohol and debauchery. Jughead takes that as his cue to sneak away. Stealthily, or as steathlily as he can be after three shots, he makes his way to the exit. A large body moves into his way, blocking him from making a quick escape.

“Sloper,” Jughead grits out.

Gabriel, who is clearly drunk, sways from side to side before he reaches out and pokes Jughead in the chest with his index finger. “What’s your deal, Jones?”

“Excuse me?” he asks icily. Jughead grabs a hold of Gabriel’s finger and twists it brutally before he pushes the 5th Year back towards the wall. “Don’t touch me again.”

Gabriel cries out in pain before he nurses his hand. “You don’t fucking deserve it.”

“Deserve what?”

“All the praise and attention. You played like shit today and for some reason, everyone forgot about that. They’re still celebrating you like you’re a god. All these girls are still throwing themselves at you and you act like you’re above them all.”

“It’s because I am,” Jughead answers simply, not at all amused at Gabriel’s tantrum. “Do you have a death wish, Sloper?”

“You won’t do shit to me, Jones. You think I don’t see you but I do.”

Before Jughead can question just what the hell that means, Reggie intervenes and pushes Gabriel away. “Get the hell out, man. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Gabriel’s fists curl up by his sides before he storms off, disappearing back into the crowd. Reggie and Jughead watch him angrily stomp away. Turning towards Jughead, Reggie grins and appears thoughtful.

“I think someone’s a little obsessed with you, Jones.”

Jughead exhales loudly before he runs his hand through his midnight hair. “I’m so sick of it, Reg. I’m so sick of all of it.”

Reggie claps a hand over Jughead’s shoulder. “A burden you must bear.”

Jughead’s quiet as he considers Reggie’s words. He knows that his friend is right -- this is just a minor slip in his usual composed nature.

“Are you leaving already?” Reggie asks.

“Yeah, I didn’t sleep well last night so I’m going to head to bed.” He reiterates the lie that he told earlier.

Reggie appears unconvinced but he doesn’t push the subject any further. Instead, he bids Jughead good night and returns to the party.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

It takes almost eight minutes for Jughead to bolt across the castle and return to the safety of their shared common room. It’s only when he’s finally inside, hidden away, that he relaxes and drops his guard. His aching muscles scream out for reprieve with every step he takes.

He inhales sharply when he sees her. Betty sits on the couch, the warm glow of the fire flickers against her gold-spun hair and pale face. She has the biggest smile on her face. Getting up, she dashes towards him and encircles her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

“Congratulations on your win! You were amazing out there,” she compliments.

Jughead relishes in her touch and how she feels in his arms. He memorizes it, every single detail, like he does each and every time she’s wrapped around him. He places a gentle kiss to her hair, breathing in her floral scent.

“I played terribly today,” he laments. He lets her guide him to sit on the couch and he plops down, his bones rattling from exhaustion. It starts to fade the longer he’s in her presence. She’s always had this effect on him.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” she admonishes. “Gryffindor won and you contributed to that victory. That’s all that matters.”

Jughead turns to her, staring at her beautiful face for a prolonged moment before he reaches over and pulls her onto his lap, a familiar position for them now. He brushes a strand of hair out of her face before he leans up and kisses her softly.

“How do you do it?” he murmurs.

“Do what?”

“You make all the negative shit disappear with one touch and one word out of those sumptuous lips. I can’t focus on anything else except you.”

Her cheeks flush to a petal pink. She’s so stunning. “Careful there, Jones. You’re starting to sound like you’re quite obsessed with me.”

His gaze is steady as he confesses with his next words. It’s equal parts terrifying and liberating. “I am obsessed. I don’t pretend to be otherwise. You drive me insane. I can’t get enough of you.”

Betty bites her lower lip, her grip on his shoulders tightening. But she doesn’t move from his lap. Instead, she settles into him further, her breath hot against his cheek as she speaks.

“I can’t get enough of you either,” she admits shyly and it feels like he’s seeing into her very being, her soul. She’s being so honest and open with him right now and the rush of it is overwhelmingly wonderful.

Jughead can read her so well. He knows that saying those words, being that honest with him, is incredibly difficult for her and that she’s slightly uncomfortable. Her body is tense around him so he does the one thing he knows will alleviate that.

He kisses her -- so deeply and passionately.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this -- of her kisses, of her warmth and softness surrounding him, of her scent completely engulfing him. His hips buck up into her unconsciously. He freezes for a moment, breaking their kiss and cursing himself for losing control of his desires as he watches her carefully.

Did he go too far? Did he push too much?

Then she surprises the hell out of him.

Betty recaptures his lips with fervor and grinds her core down against his hardness. A strained groan escapes his lips as he indulges in the pleasure, rocking their bodies back and forth. It takes everything in him to not explode in his slacks right now.

Her fingertips trail down his chest and she tugs his shirt and sweater up. He removes them readily, pulling them over his head and throwing the clothing to the floor. She leans back and takes him in, her emerald green eyes so dark with desire.

“I want to touch you,” she says softly.

Jughead can’t even fathom a worded response. Instead, he just nods dumbly, watching through lidded eyes as she slides over his body and lowers herself to her knees on the ground. His immediate reaction is to pull her back up.

Betty Cooper kneels for no one but she seems to be enjoying it. Even if she’s kneeling at his feet, she’s still fully in control.

Slowly, she undoes the zipper to his slacks and he lifts his hips up, helping her peel them off of him. Her delicate hand rubs his hardened length through his boxer briefs. He throws his head back against the couch. He’s not sure how far she wants to go with this but he’ll take every single bit that she’s willing to grace him with.

She sits back on her heels, her cheeks still flushed with a rosy tint. “I’ve never done this before,” she admits. “But I’ve read about it.”

“Have you?” he grits out, his voice hoarse with want. Of course, she has. This is Betty Cooper -- why does it surprise him that her voracious desire for knowledge wouldn’t also extend into this subject matter?

Betty nods, her hand playing with the waistband of his boxers. She hovers there for a moment, teasing him endlessly, until she reaches her hand in and pulls him out. His cock bobs for a moment before slapping against his abdomen.

He’s never been this fucking turned on before in his entire life.

His hands grip the cushions as he waits for her to do something -- anything at this point. Instead, she stares at his cock, as if entranced. No words form in his mind. It’s just filled with mindless desire and anticipation.

Never one to back down from a challenge, she straightens before she reaches her hand out and circles her fingers around the base of his cock. She pumps firmly from root to tip. The pressure is perfect and immense pleasure shoots through his body as he watches her work.

A small drop of precum grows on the head of his cock and he nearly loses it when she licks it off of him with a quick swipe of her tongue. She sucks the tip of him and he grips the cushions harder, knowing he cannot lose control and thrust into her hot mouth right now.

She continues to pump him with her hand while her mouth licks up and down his shaft like he’s the tastiest treat she’s ever consumed. She pays attention to his every reaction, as if wanting to make sure she’s doing it right. Her tongue swirls against the head of his cock as she slides him deeper and deeper into her mouth. He watches himself disappear between her perfectly plump lips. It’s the most erotic and pleasureable thing he’s ever witnessed.

He cradles her head, his fingers tangled in her golden strands. He feels his balls tighten the more she licks and sucks. He never wants this to end even with the promise of insurmountable pleasure at the end of this.

“Betty,” he pants out, trying to lift her mouth off of him. “I’m close.”

These words seem to renew her vigor and she sucks harder.

“Betty-” he says in a strangled voice, before he loses all control.

He comes and she pumps him through his orgasm, drinking in every bit of his release before she swallows, greedily consuming him. After she’s done, she wipes the corners of her mouth with a finger before she sucks it into her mouth, devouring every last bit of him.

She stares up at him with a satisfied smile. His chest rises and lowers with his heavy breaths while she tucks him back in.

She opens her mouth to speak but he stops her, grabbing her by the back of her head and slamming his mouth against hers. He tastes the remnants of his cum on her tongue and it only serves to turn him on even more. He feels himself harden against her thigh.

Pushing her back on the couch, he spreads her legs and smiles down at her lasciviously.

“My turn.”

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Jughead doesn’t usually like the word perfect. It’s such an impossible standard to achieve and dismally, he’s always thought everything and everyone has flaws. There’s no such thing as perfection.

However, being with Betty Cooper, holding her and breathing her in is perfection. Everything about her is perfection. She's the only perfect part of his imperfect world.

He finds himself in a blissful daze the next few days. Even not getting to touch and interact with her in public doesn’t sting or bother him as much. Sneaking around with her has been, dare he say it, fun. When he’s around her, the most prevalent emotion he feels is happiness and then hopeless admiration and longing.

It’s late in the evening, past dinner time. However, he and Betty walk through the halls of Hogwarts with ease and little concern. Sometimes, being Head Boy and Head Girl respectively has its perks. After wrapping up the rounds that Betty insisted they still needed to complete, they arrive in front of the Potions classroom.

Betty waves her hands over the door, checking for any wards or alarms that they could potentially trip.

“You really think Professor Malfoy would put wards on his classroom?” he asks curiously. He knows Professor Malfoy is particular, to say the least, but wards on a classroom within the fortress that is Hogwarts seems a little like overkill.

“If it were my classroom, I would,” she answers simply. She holds her palm open against the door and murmurs an incantation. “I knew it. There’s a simple _Salvio Hexia_ enchantment. Easy enough to break. We might not have that much time though since disarming it may alert the Professor. We should hurry.”

Pointing her wand at the door, she murmurs again, a blue light shooting out at the entrance. Jughead sees a glimmering shadow that was protecting the door crumble and fade.

“It took you one spell to disable a ward set up by someone that’s been awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class?” Jughead says in awe.

Betty blushes before she moves towards the supply closet, one end goal in mind. “You can compliment me all you want later, Juggie. Now, we need to focus.”

There are times that he could easily forget that Betty was sorted into Slytherin. She’s so kind and thoughtful -- always so willing to help. However, she’s also driven, ambitious, and insanely ruthless when she wants to be. He loves seeing this side of her. It turns him on so much.

At the supply closet, she whispers another incantation to see if there are security measures in place. Finding nothing, she opens it and starts to explore the stores.

She starts to shuffle through all the supplies, noting what’s there and what’s not.

“Valerian root, fluxweed, powdered root of asphodel,” she mutters. “They’re all gone.”

“What?”

Jughead looks over the supply closet and shakes his head in confusion. “How is that possible? There’s supposed to be enough here to last the students through the entire academic year. How could it all be gone already?”

“What an excellent question, Mr. Jones,” a piercing voice rings through the air, sending chills all the way down Jughead’s spine.

Betty’s eyes widen before she quickly masks her response. Jughead turns around slowly, already knowing who it is.

“Professor Malfoy,” he greets easily, as if they hadn’t just been caught sneaking around going through the class supplies.

“Mr. Jones, Ms. Cooper, do either of you care to explain what you’re doing?” Malfoy asks icily, his pale aristocratic face exuding no emotion. It makes him more terrifying.

Not easily intimidated, Betty pipes up. “We heard a noise coming from this classroom during rounds, sir. We came in to investigate and see who’s up past curfew.”

“And why would that cause you to go through my supply closet?” Malfoy continues his line of questioning, clearly not at all convinced of these lies.

“The noise was coming from this closet,” Jughead adds.

Malfoy’s silver eyes land on him. His sharp gaze feels like it’s clawing into his chest, digging at it for the truth. The professor opens his mouth to retort before a horrifying scream rings through the air.

It’s so similar to what they heard when they found Ethel’s body. Dread builds in the pit of Jughead’s stomach as the three of them rush towards the sound. Malfoy gets there first, his robes billowing out behind him like a dramatic cape as he moves.

It’s Gabriel Sloper.

He lies motionless on the floor, all the color drained out of his face. In his hand, he holds a small mirror.

He’s been petrified.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000


	12. Legilimens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual gigantic thank you goes out to Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for everything she does! Thank you for being so wonderful, my love!
> 
> A huge thank you to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for this AMAZING header. LOOK AT IT! IT'S PERFECT. I AM DYING.
> 
> And another big thank you to Anna ([edamamechips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edamamechips/pseuds/edamamechips)) for the song suggestion for this chapter. It fits perfectly.
> 
> Books and cleverness is of course, a reference to canon of how Hermione Granger describes herself in Sorcerer’s Stone!
> 
> Also, if anyone can spot the previous imagery that I referenced in the first chapter, a gold star for you!!

__

_What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?_  
_With your hair falling into place like dominos_  
_I call you out on your contrarian shit_  
_And the coastal town we wandered 'round had never_  
_Seen a love as pure as it_  
_'Cause I don't like a gold rush_  
_I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush_  
_I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch_  
_Everybody wants you_  
_Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you_

_"gold rush" by Taylor Swift_

**_Twelve: Legilimens_ **

Another one. It’s another body.

This is the only thought in her mind as Betty stares helplessly at Gabriel Sloper’s unmoving form. There’s another one. Someone was attacked at Hogwarts. Again. The burden of responsibility and failure at protecting another unsuspecting victim hangs heavily on her shoulders, threatening to suffocate her as she tries her best to rein in all these emotions. She needs to concentrate. Gabriel was attacked and no matter how much of a cad he is, he didn’t deserve this.

Like a practiced routine she’s done over and over again, she shuts off the noise in her brain and focuses on the situation that needs to be ameliorated in front of her.

She stands beside Jughead and Professor Malfoy; both of them have impenetrable cold masks on their faces as they take in the sight of Gabriel’s body. Malfoy’s attention snaps away first and he faces the two culprits -- Ava Prewett and Callum McLaggen. They stand next to the body, suspiciously close. Ava must’ve been the one that screamed. Tears stream down her face, her whole body wracked with shivers as she shakes uncontrollably. Callum gathers her into his arms, holding her tightly against his body.

“Explain now,” Malfoy demands, his tone hard, practically vicious. It’s the only time that Betty’s ever felt some semblance of fear towards the professor.

“We found him like this, sir.” Callum immediately launches into a defensive explanation. “We were walking down the hall on our way back to our rooms when we found him. Poor Ava saw him first. She bolted towards him and then screamed when she realized what happened to him.”

“Why were you out past curfew in the first place?” Jughead questions, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Callum visibly falters and opens his mouth before he shuts it back up, his gaze landing on Ava’s. She seems to be panicking as well and stays silent, clutching his arm in a deathly grip, shaking her head no.

“Well?” Jughead continues to prod.

“It was nothing,” Ava replies uncomfortably. “We were just studying.”

Betty stares at them, taking in the state of their clothing, rumpled with mismatched buttons aligned haphazardly. Ava’s hair is a mess and her lips are swollen. She spots a hickey on Callum’s neck. Ava’s gaze continues to dart from the floor to Jughead, as if she’s too ashamed to meet his eyes. It’s quite evident exactly what they were doing. Ava’s cheeks flush a deeper red and suddenly, Betty realizes why they’re both so quiet about this. It’s because Ava’s wholly embarrassed that she’s been caught red-handed by the guy that is most definitely the center of all her fantasies and desires. Callum says nothing because he wants to protect her.

Betty glances at Jughead out of the corner of her eye and forces herself to act normally, to not feel the emotions that are pounding through her blood vessels, so hard that it feels like they might burst at any second. Will it ever not feel like this? Will the shadow of his name, popularity, and desirability ever stop haunting her, casting its ominous grip over their relationship?

She knows that Ava means nothing to Jughead but still -- that nagging feeling of uncertainty and uninhibited jealousy clings to the pit of her stomach.

Almost as if he senses this internal battle, Jughead turns to her subtly and reaches out, wanting to graze his hand against hers. She moves away before he can touch her. She doesn’t spare him a glance, knowing she can’t stomach his look of disappointment at her slight.

She’s the Head Girl. She has a responsibility. Right now is not the time to be wrangling petty emotions. Focus.

Professor Malfoy’s eyes narrow at the two rule-breaking students, clearly annoyed and entirely suspicious of Callum and Ava. He thinks they’re lying. His hand twitches by his side and his jaw tightens like he’s considering something that could be potentially harmful. In another instant, moving swifter than Betty’s ever seen, Malfoy strides towards Callum and lifts his hand up, performing the magic wandlessly and wordlessly.

Callum lets go of Ava, throwing his head back like he’s in immense pain. His hands come up to his hair as he starts to pull at it.

It almost looks like he’s being tortured but he’s not. It’s Legilimency. Professor Malfoy is currently navigating through the many layers of Callum’s brain, piercing it and relentlessly searching for what he’s looking for. Perhaps he could’ve accomplished this task through a pensieve but memories can be doctored and altered. If Callum has anything to hide, he wouldn’t be able to do so now, not with the way the professor wraps his fist around Callum’s brain, squeezing every bit of information out.

The only way to defend against legilimency is occlumency. It’s clear from the way Callum is currently clutching at his head, writhing with discomfort, that he’s not adept at it.

“Get out of my head,” Callum growls out.

Malfoy ignores him. Ava is still looking back and forth between Callum and the professor in shock. Jughead has his hands clenched at his sides, like he wants to stop the professor, barely restraining himself. Betty just watches emotionlessly.

It needs to be done. The professor is clearly an advanced Legilimens if he’s able to perform it so effortlessly. No damage is being inflicted, just mild unpleasantness.

Malfoy lets go of his hold. Callum collapses back against Ava, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he takes in big gulping breaths.

“Why did you-”

Before he can even ask his question, Professor Malfoy flicks his wrist in a dismissive motion. “Magnanimously, I am willing to overlook that you two were caught, in flagrante, out past curfew. So many rules were broken and you were discovered not only by a professor but also the Head Girl and Head Boy. Imagine the shame.”

Callum’s face turns bright red and he starts to protest. “My father-”

“Is an imbecile,” Malfoy finishes for him with a sneer. “Do you really think that your pathetic father can do anything to me?”

He’s not wrong. Not only are the Malfoys powerful enough on their own with an infinite amount of connections, Draco also happens to be married to the most powerful witch in the magical world, the Minister for Magic.

Ava holds onto Callum’s arm and pulls him back. “Callum, please. Let’s just leave,” she hisses at him before she turns towards them. “Thank you for your offer, sir. We’re happy to take it.”

Ava practically drags Callum down the hallway and only when they’re out of sight does Jughead speak.

“Was that really necessary?” he asks, his jaw still ticking with frustration.

“Mr. Jones, you will soon come to realize that what must be done is always necessary, even if it may infringe upon your precious moral compass,” Malfoy answers silkily. His gaze falls towards Betty who has no objections. He takes this as the sign to continue. “Mr. McLaggen was speaking honestly. He and Ms. Prewett were unawares in a neighboring classroom. They were heading towards their rooms when they stumbled upon Mr. Sloper’s body.”

“So he was telling the truth,” Jughead says icily. “What was the point of invading his mind if you have nothing to show for it?”

“Because now the professor can confirm that he was telling the truth,” Betty answers for Malfoy.

Malfoy nods at her in agreeance. “Precisely. We have a lunatic running around Hogwarts that’s terrorizing and petrifying students and you’re concerned about my methods? That’s what you have chosen to focus on?”

“It wasn’t right,” Jughead replies forcefully.

“It had to be done,” Malfoy reiterates. “Enough talking. We should get Mr. Sloper to the infirmary so he can receive the Mandrake Restorative Draught.”

Betty helps cast the levitation charm and follows wordlessly. It’s all too familiar. Her stomach plummets as she realizes that this is the second time that she’s had to do this in a few short weeks.

_She should’ve prevented this. This was her responsibility and she failed._

These thoughts reverberate throughout her mind the entire walk to the infirmary.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000

Unsurprisingly, the infirmary is a flurry of frenetic energy as they arrive with Sloper’s unmoving body. Headmistress McGonagall descends upon them with her questioning, her mouth settled into a grim, straight line. Professor Malfoy answers accordingly, recalling each and every detail precisely and swiftly. After he’s done, McGonagall departs to inform the Ministry of the latest happenings. There’s no way something of this magnitude can stay silent. Tomorrow, Hogwarts will be infested with rumors yet again.

“Thank goodness Ethel just finished brewing a batch of this,” Madame Pomfrey says as she retrieves a vial of Mandrake Restorative Draught.

She unplugs the vial and pries open Gabriel’s mouth, pouring the shimmering iridescent potion into it. It’s almost beautiful, the way that the liquid undulates in the air before it descends in its trajectory. Betty stands next to Jughead as Madame Pomfrey examines the rest of Gabriel’s body. With effort, she wrestles the mirror from Gabriel’s cold and stiff fingers. She hands it to Professor Malfoy who stares at it with intensity.

“What is it?” Betty asks, unsure if she wants to know the answer.

“Another student at Hogwarts who was petrified the last time the basilisk attacked was also holding a mirror when they were discovered,” Malfoy reveals, his silver eyes practically gleaming black as he recounts this.

“Hermione Granger.”

“My wife.”

Betty and Malfoy speak at the same time. Jughead shakes his head as he wraps his mind around all this.

“That’s the second time then that these recent attacks echo what happened the last time the basilisk was unleashed.” Jughead runs a hand through his thick hair and lets out a heavy sigh. “But there was nothing in the Chamber of Secrets. Could the basilisk be hiding elsewhere?”

“Or someone is deliberately setting up these attacks to look like it’s a basilisk attack. The perpetrator is using the details of past attacks and recreating them now to attack purebloods.” Betty sits down on the empty bed next to Gabriel’s. “It’s too convenient that both Ethel and Gabriel had these silly things on them that saved them from death. At least in Ethel’s case, it makes sense why she had a camera but why would Gabriel be skulking around the corridors with a mirror in his hand?”

“What if he was investigating like Minister Granger-Malfoy was?” Jughead points out. Before he even finishes his sentence, he realizes how foolish it was.

Betty sends him a pointed look and Jughead nods, admitting that it’s very unlikely Gabriel was out and about investigating the mystery.

“So he was attacked,” Malfoy surmises.

“I think so.” Betty takes a few steps towards the professor and holds out her hand. “May I?”

He nods, handing the mirror over without question. Betty turns it over a few times, searching for any clue or hint, but sees nothing out of the ordinary. The mirror is cracked and the plastic blackened but it’s mostly intact.

“ _Revelio_ ,” she murmurs. Nothing.

“Try this,” Professor Malfoy suggests. He waves his hand once. “ _Specialis Revelio_.”

The mirror remains suspended in the air, revealing the prognosis: _Reducto_ , the destruction curse.

“Wha-How did you?” Betty struggles to find the words as she looks on in confusion and awe.

“It’s my own variation of the _Revelio_ Charm. This one is specifically tailored to assess what spells have been cast on objects or potions,” Malfoy explains.

“I’ll have to remember that one,” Jughead says with a twitch of his lips. “Someone purposefully cast a curse to break the mirror.”

“Someone set this up,” Betty says hollowly. Her instincts have been telling her this for a little while now but receiving the confirmation of it is still worrisome. Now, after finding Gabriel’s body, it’s proof that Ethel’s attack wasn’t a mistake or a one-off. Someone is deliberately hunting students at Hogwarts.

Betty twists her hands together before it hits her. “We should perform this charm on the camera too. I bet the same thing happened to it.”

Before either of them can make a move to leave, Malfoy’s velvety voice stops them.

“I suppose there’s no point in asking you two to stop investigating and leave it up to your professors.”

“You are correct,” Jughead replies with a grin. “We’re the Heads and this is our school too. Whoever’s doing this is threatening us all.”

“Ever the valiant hero, so eager to run directly into the fire.”

It’s difficult to tell whether or not Malfoy’s statement is a compliment or an insult but knowing her professor, she assumes it’s the latter. Before Jughead can retort, Betty laces her arm through his elbow and pulls him away.

“Have a good evening, Professor.”

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

It’s quiet as they walk back to their private quarters, the only interruption in the air is the sound of their shoes making contact with the stone floor. Jughead gets to the door first, mutters the password, and gestures for her to enter before him.

After she walks in, Betty stands by the couch and watches Jughead with careful eyes. He seems distracted, like he’s trapped in his own thoughts, his mind holding him prisoner. She knows how it feels -- how often have her own thoughts and fears done the same? Like they’re doing right now.

She holds her arm out and flicks her wrist. “ _Accio camera_.”

Within seconds, the camera zooms into her open palm and she catches it easily. She expects Jughead to make a teasing comment about her Quidditch potential but it doesn’t come. Without wasting another second, she says the spell that Professor Malfoy just taught them.

“ _Specialis Revelio_.”

It takes a few moments but then the prognosis reveals the same spell: _Reducto_.

Betty lets out a sigh. “I guess it’s official then.”

“Hmm.” This is all Jughead says in response.

She thinks she should say something to him -- after all, they should talk about the underlying tension between them right now, shouldn’t they? But she’s not good at this type of thing. Books, cleverness, being the sharpest and the smartest -- that’s what she’s good at, what she excels at. Romantic relationships and understanding the complexities of them -- these are foreign strangers to her. It’s not as if she has a good example for it. Her parents’ marriage is a loveless sham.

“Who do you think could’ve done this? Why would someone recreate these attacks and target purebloods?” Betty asks, continuing the conversation about the looming mystery. It’s a safe topic, one where she knows she won’t mess up and say something that she’ll come to regret.

Jughead stands at a short distance away from her, his gaze affixed on the fireplace. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re upset with me?”

Her green eyes snap to his. It would be so easy to fall into his blue depths and protective arms. But she can’t bring herself to do it, not when it would be metaphorically like giving in. Her heart tells her to go to him. Her brain tells her to protect herself, close off and hide.

“I’m not upset with you.”

A lie. But how is she supposed to explain these feelings to him when she doesn’t really even understand them herself? There’s so much fear, hesitation, anxiety, jealousy, frustration -- all wrapped up within her, grasping her heart in an immovable chokehold. It’s overwhelming to feel all this at once and her instincts tell her to do what she always does -- run away, shut down and push it all into the back corner of her mind.

This can’t all be surfacing because of something as simple as seeing Ava pine after Jughead, could it?

No, it’s not. It’s all the things that she’s repressed in the last few weeks because she’s been so blissfully and stupidly happy with Jughead in their own little bubble. Ava is a reminder of what lies outside, ready to pounce and destroy them both. It’s the jaded reality that neither of them can hide from, no matter how much they try to.

Jughead closes the distance between their bodies and it takes everything within her not to back down and physically move away from him. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t move. She stands there, unyielding and defiant.

“Yes, you are.” He’s so close that his breath fans across her cheek. “You think I don’t know every facet of your expressions and your emotions by now? You can’t hide this from me. Tell me why you’re upset with me.”

He looks like he wants to touch her but he doesn’t, barely restraining himself.

The words explode from her before she can stop it. She can’t hold it in when he’s around her; she just keeps doing this, opening more and more of herself up to him. And while to any other normal human being, that might be a good thing, to her, it’s the most terrifying prospect.

“You were there, Jughead. You saw what happened. You saw the way that Ava looked at you, like you were the center of her universe and how desperately she wished that she could replace Callum with you. It just set something off in me.”

He looks at her intensely, like his gaze is seeing right through her. She doesn’t move to hide herself; she refuses to.

“You’re upset because your feelings for me elicited fear and jealousy.” It’s a statement, said so easily like it’s the truest thing in the world.

“No,” she responds immediately.

He reaches forward, his hand grazing hers ever so gently. Hooking his pinky finger around hers, he brings her hand up to his mouth and kisses it. Betty visibly falters at this sweet gesture. How is she supposed to resist him when he’s like this with her? He’s not angry. He doesn’t mock her. Even if what she’s saying right now is completely nonsensical, he doesn’t belittle her. He simply listens.

“Really?” he asks.

“Maybe a little bit,” she finally admits.

Jughead brushes a strand of hair out of her face and kisses her forehead, keeping the touches light and not forcing her into his arms. “What if we told everyone? There’d be no reason for you to be jealous if everyone knew you’re mine like I am yours.”

“Do you think it’s as simple as that?” she asks, shaking her head. “It’s not going away with a wave of your wand. It might never go away.”

“That’s not true,” he argues. “You need to trust me that I would be able to handle and manage it. That’s all I’m asking of you.”

“Our relationship is not something to be handled and managed.” It comes out harsher than she intends it to. She’s picking a fight and pushing him away.

“Don’t twist my words. You know that’s not what I meant.” He disentangles himself from her and takes a step back before he starts to pace in front of the fireplace. “Betty, I feel like you’re slipping away from me right now. I don’t know what the right thing to say is. What do you want to hear? What are the words you’re looking for?”

Betty. Not Polaris.

It’s like a douse of cold water over her head when she hears it. Why is she dismantling their relationship, piece by piece? What is she doing? What does she want?

She doesn’t know.

All the emotions bubble up within her and she can’t hold it back anymore. “I want to be with you but every time something as stupid and simple as this happens, I get in my own head like I’ve lost you already. And it hurts so much to even imagine it. So all I want to do is to run in the other direction, to stop thinking about this and retreat because it’s the only way I can protect my heart. I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”

By the time she finishes speaking, her head feels dizzy and light. She reminds herself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

Jughead’s solution is to reveal the truth of their relationship to everyone. But she can’t.

She’s a realist, not a dreamer or a romantic. She’s a Slytherin not a Gryffindor. She’s well aware that if they ever go public, they’d be met with a barrage of criticism and they’d never be able to escape people’s prying interests, no matter how private they tried to be.

She would no longer be her. She would be a part of them -- always associated with another person, never thought of independently. That seems to go against every single thing that she believes in and stands for. It’s contrary to all the things her mother had hammered into her mind when she was young -- to prove herself, to always be striving for more and to be better. Most of all, to exceed expectations of what people might think of her because of her mixed bloodline.

You would never know that Alice Cooper, née Smith, was a muggleborn witch. Ever since she married into the Cooper name, a medium to lower tier Pureblood family, she’s banished any thought of her true bloodline in polite society. There’s no affection or romance in her marriage. It was born of duty and opportunity. Alice is so convincing in her role as the perfect and polished wife that even Betty believed it for so long. However, it’s only to her daughter that Alice talks openly of topics that seem to detract from traditional Pureblood views.

When Betty’s in the mood to psychoanalyze her mother, she thinks that’s why Alice is so stubborn about certain things, such as excellence and ambition. As a mother, she wants her daughter to have the chances she herself couldn’t have because of her blood. It’s why she pushes so hard. Betty thinks that even though Alice plays the part so deceivingly well, a part of her mother still detests what Pureblood society stands for; she still holds a grudge from her childhood where she never fully belonged to any world, whether that be muggle or magical. As a muggleborn witch, she was forced to straddle that line, no matter how much she wanted to overcome it.

 _They’ll always look down on you, Elizabeth. They’ll always try to force you into a predetermined box. So you must be better than them. You must never show weakness._ Her mother’s words reverberate through her mind.

She never wanted her mother’s influence to affect her own choices but it’s almost inevitable. The part of her that tells her to run away, the part that screams for her to protect herself exists because of how she was raised and molded. It tells her that love is weakness.

How does she tell him this, that there are so many odds against them? That even her own mind wants to sabotage their relationship because it’s the easy way out?

She doesn’t want to disappoint him. She doesn’t want to hurt him. But at the same time, how can she reconcile all these conflicting desires within her? Being with him is so easy -- it comes naturally to her. She’s not sure what exactly she expected but she never would’ve anticipated this -- the ease and comfort of it. As if they were meant to be all along.

It’s nothing like she thought it would be. It’s everything she never knew she wanted.

She doesn’t know what else to say. So, she says nothing.

Instead, she lets herself fall into the safety of his embrace. Grabbing his hand, she intertwines her fingers through his and squeezes tightly.

“Then let me slay your demons, Polaris. I’ll protect you from anything, even your own fears. You just have to let me in.”

He said that he didn’t know what the right words to say were. But this right here -- these are the perfect words. She wants to capture them, hold them close to her heart and fall into them. Wrapping her arms around him, he leads them to the couch and she nestles herself into his lap, her face hidden in the crook of his neck.

In the safety of his arms, the cacophony in her mind isn’t as loud. It feels like she can conquer anything. She can’t lose this.

So if she has to go against what her mind tells her to -- something that seems at odds with her whole being -- she will.

She can’t lose him -- she refuses to.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

That night, they sleep -- actually sleep -- together again in the same bed. After her confession to him, her whole body collapsed and gave into exhaustion. Like so many nights before, she doesn’t remember falling asleep and getting in bed. Jughead must’ve brought her to his room and tucked her in again. She wakes up, unsure of her surroundings with a strong arm wrapped around her waist.

The morning light filters brightly through the window; she’s not sure what time it is but it still feels early. It’s tempting to close her eyes and drift back to sleep but her mind is already whizzing, fully ready to get a start on the day. Turning slightly, she sees that Jughead is still sleeping, his breaths even and deep. Careful not to wake him, she lifts the covers gently and starts to inch her way off the bed slowly.

Before she can make the initial move, she feels herself being pulled back against a strong chest. His hard length pokes at her butt saying its own morning greeting. She squirms against him, slapping at his arm.

“Let me go,” she demands with a huff though she doesn’t really want him to do that.

His iron hold around her waist tightens and his hot breath tickles her ear. Jughead nibbles at her lobe before speaking, his voice gruff and rough from sleep. “Are you sure that’s what you really want?”

She pushes back into his hardness once again, moving it at an angle she knows they’ll both enjoy before she pries his arm off and hops off the bed.

“It’s a beautiful morning. Get up!” she says with a grin.

He remains on the bed, his hair sticking up at all angles, his eyelids heavy with sleep and tiredness. Still, he’s so handsome and it’s hard to tear her eyes away from him. He pouts, jutting his lower lip out.

“That was mean,” he grunts. “Get back here so I can punish you.”

“You don’t scare me, Jones,” she tells him airily as she moves into his bathroom. A quick Accio and her toothbrush flies into her hands.

Her mouth is minty fresh when she steps back out into his bedroom. Then she is immediately tackled back onto the bed. She goes down in a fit of giggles and swats at his chest.

“You are such a brute!”

Her body is trapped beneath him as he stares down at her and brushes the hair out of her face lovingly. “You know, you’ve called me this once before.” He presses several light kisses to her cheeks, her nose, and her forehead, actions that seem to negate what she just accused him of.

“But I think I liked the way you said it just now the best.” He shoots her a devilish smirk.

“Only your gigantic ego could turn an insult into a compliment,” she retorts saucily.

“Stop acting like you can resist me, Polaris.” This time, when he kisses her, it’s much deeper and filled with unbridled passion.

She arches her body up into him and he caresses her, like he always needs to be touching her in some shape or form as if he’s addicted to the feel of her and her very presence. They stay like that, wrapped up in one another, completely unaffected by anything else that’s not him, not her, not them.

This is starting to become one of her favorite ways to kick off the day.

Eventually, Jughead rolls onto his side and props his head up in his palm. He traces a finger down the curve of her body.

“Will you spend the New Year’s holiday with me?” he asks. “It’ll be like torture not to see you for a week already. I don’t know how much longer I could last.”

“Will you miss me?” she asks with a bright smile.

“I’ll miss you so much that I’m sure I’ll go insane. Being back at the manor certainly won’t help,” he reveals with a heavy sigh.

Betty leans into him and gives him a soft, lingering kiss. “I’d love to spend New Year’s with you.”

She draws circles into his chest when a thought hits her. Biting her lip, she debates if she wants to bring it up, knowing it may stir potential conflict. But she promised herself she would be honest with him, more open.

“Are you okay with what happened with Professor Malfoy?”

He snorts before he grabs her hand and brings her body closer to him, cradling her. “We really need to work on your timing, Polaris. Why do you insist on bringing Malfoy up during the most inopportune moments? Should I be worried?” he asks with a waggle of his eyebrows.

She shakes her head against his chest, mumbling into it. “I didn’t want to hide my concern from you. I’m trying here!”

Jughead kisses the top of her head and she can feel his grin against her hair. “Thank you.” He pulls back for a moment and looks at her seriously. “In my mind, he crossed a line but what he did wouldn’t get him thrown into Azkaban. Even if it was reported to the headmistress, he’d just get a slap on the wrist because it’s looked down upon. I know that. I don’t trust him but I trust you.”

“Maybe that’s the difference between us then,” she expresses thoughtfully. “If it were me in that situation, I would’ve done the same thing. Is that wrong?”

“No,” he answers immediately. “It means you’re voracious for the truth which I suppose Professor Malfoy was as well,” he hedges. “Don’t be ashamed of these thoughts or these parts of you. I may not understand them all but I want to. I want to know every part of you there is.”

“You don’t find it strange?”

“Not at all. Don’t you know by now, Polaris? There’s not a single part of you that I don’t treasure. I want it all. I want all of you,” he says ardently.

Then he kisses her. Her heart pounds so loudly against her chest, the emotions overtaking her and a little further, she sinks into him.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

It’s officially the end of the semester. Classes are over. Tests have been taken. And now, they all wait.

Except Betty Cooper. She’s never been good at waiting.

Instead of coming to a standstill, the first thing she does after the semester ends is lead Gabriel’s parents to the infirmary along with Headmistress McGonagall. They’ve been visiting him daily and consistently while he’s still incapacitated. It wasn’t required that she be there but it felt like it was the least she could do. She can’t imagine what it would be like to spend most of the Yuletide holidays petrified and unable to celebrate with her family. Worse, to be the parents taking care of their son during that difficult time when the holidays are supposed to be filled with joy. It’s a terrible shadow cast over a typically festive time.

After she returns from the infirmary, she does what no other student is currently doing after a long semester -- she hides in the library and researches.

She pores through potion book after potion book -- anything she could get her hands on from the stacks -- and searches for a potion that has all the ingredients that were missing from Malfoy’s stores.

Valerian root. Powdered Root of Asphodel. Fluxweed. Wormwood.

Valerian root and Powdered Root of Asphodel are key ingredients in the Draught of Living Death. Wormwood and Powdered Root of Asphodel are the main parts of the Vitamix Potion. But no potion has all four ingredients, at least none that she’s come across so far.

But she can’t give up. She knows this clue will lead them somewhere, not just another dead end like the Chamber of Secrets was. Her instincts tell her this is the key.

“I thought I’d find you here. Are you seriously still studying?”

The familiar voice jolts her from her reading. She slams the sixth potions book that she’s looked through today shut. It’s probably for the best. None of the books in the school’s library has what she’s looking for.

“Are you still heckling me about studying?” she retorts before she gets up and gives Kevin a big hug. “Are you off soon?”

“I’m not leaving until tomorrow but thought I’d try to convince you to stop studying and perhaps, join me for a hot chocolate?” Kevin asks, blinking his eyes in an exaggerated pleading fashion. “This is not something that we can do here, in the library, sounded by your precious books.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” she says with a grin. With a flick of her wand, all the books on the table return to their original locations amongst the shelves. Then she stands and hooks her arm through Kevin’s.

“Can we get the hot chocolate with the tiny marshmallows?”

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

They decide on the Heads’ Private Common Room because it’s guaranteed to be empty. Jughead has already left Hogwarts for the holidays, returning to Jones Manor. The Great Hall and most House Common Rooms are currently a bustle of activity with all the students’ excitement from the semester ending. That or the students are gossiping about what happened to Gabriel. It’s exhausting to have to deal with all the conspiracy theories and hypotheticals. It annoys her further when most students don’t even bother to look at the actual evidence and instead choose to spout things that have no basis in fact.

Betty walks into the common room first, her eyes widening when she sees a white gardenia floating in the air, in front of the fireplace. It’s almost comical the way she frantically scrambles towards it, swiping it into the palm of her hand. She turns around slowly, desperately hoping that Kevin didn’t see it but she can’t catch the note that flutters to the ground before he spots it.

“What’s this?” he asks, curious as ever, ignoring her protests to not read it. If anything, that just further encourages him. He grabs the note before Betty can tear it away from him.

_To my Polaris, my favorite secret, my heart. Have a wonderful holiday. I will miss you with more intensity and longing than I can ever convey. Yours, J_

Kevin reads it aloud, his eyes widening more and more with each spoken word. He emits a high-pitched squeal, one that Betty is sure would alert and alarm nearby dogs. “Holy shit! I knew it! I fucking knew it. You wily little minx, is this what I think it is?”

Betty flops down onto the couch with a groan, shoving her face into her palm. The flower and note are the sweetest gestures and she knows from her herbology reading that Jughead selected the gardenia for a reason. White gardenias are a symbol for secret love and also signify romance and beauty.

Except, she’s positive he never expected someone else would be reading the note first instead of her.

With how much she’s resisted telling people about her hidden romance, she thinks her old friends, anxiety and fear, would be more present but instead surprisingly, she feels relief. It’s like a weight off her shoulders that she can finally share this giant part of her life with someone: her first romance and her first secret love.

Kevin is one of her closest friends and she cherishes what they have; it's been strange to keep him in the dark about this. She hates lying to him and as much as she teases him for having a big mouth, she knows that he would never betray her trust by repeating what she’s about to tell him.

She pats the cushion next to her, signaling for Kevin to take a seat.

“I have a secret to add to your collection.”

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000


	13. The Elixir of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT’S ALL STARTING TO COME TOGETHER!!!! Insert maniacal laugh. Why yes, the key passage in this chapter was originally mentioned in Chapter 2. I have been planning this for that long.
> 
> The inspiration for Jones Manor is Malfoy Manor. The history of the house is taken from [here.](https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Malfoy_Manor#:~:text=Malfoy%20Manor%20was%20the%20home,%2C%20Narcissa%2C%20and%20Draco%20Malfoy)
> 
> The Potion’s book title comes from [here](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08FCMNP6G/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1) (which I have not read but I liked the name).
> 
> Elixir of Life recipe inspired by [this recipe.](https://www.snitchseeker.com/term-25-may-july-2010/potions-recipe-book-74836/)
> 
> The usual huge thank you goes to Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for all her input and patience with me. This story would not exist without her.
> 
> And of course, thank you to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for this GORGEOUS header that was exactly what I envisioned. How do you always read my mind?!

__

_Momma says I'm up to no good again_   
_Couldn't make her proud, though I did my best_   
_I feel like a mess_   
_I feel like I'm stuck in the wrong skin_   
_But I'm having trouble swallowing my own medicine_   
_Sunday, carry me, carry me down to the water_   
_And wash me clean, I'm still struggling_   
_Sunday, bury me under the weight of who you need me to be_   
_Can't you see I'm struggling?_

_“Sunday” by Joy Oladokun_

**_Thirteen: The Elixir of Life_ **

It’s barely been forty-five seconds since Jughead has stepped foot through the doors of Jones Manor and his temper and patience are already being tested.

“Forsythe, you’ve finally returned. I trust your journey was safe. Why you had to take the train with the rest of the heathens you call classmates is beyond me. I will never understand why Hogwarts insists on this antiquated rules and refusing apparition on its grounds.” His mother’s judgmental tone rings clear throughout the cold walls of his ancestral home.

Home is perhaps an overstatement as he’s never truly felt comfortable in it. Hogwarts seems more like a home in comparison.

Gladys is dressed in a deep red silk gown and her hair is pinned back in a tight chignon. There’s not a single thing out of place with her. She is the epitome of perfection -- as she has been groomed to be. Growing up in her stringent household is why he seeks out flaws and imperfections.

They’re so much more interesting to him. He’s sure his mother would be horrified if she ever realized that she raised a son who wants to be everything that she isn't. Yes, she’s beautiful but where is the warmth? Where is the affection? All of that is missing.

There’s just judgement and criticism balanced with strategic detachment.

With every step down the grand circular staircase that leads to the entrance of the manor, the silk fabric of her dress catches the light, making her whole body appear as if it's shimmering like some rare jewel. It would be so easy to let himself get entangled in the web that she weaves but he’s older now and wiser.

HIs mother doesn’t fool him anymore. He sees right through her.

“Well, come come. Stop standing in the doorway, you’re letting the draft in. Why are you still carrying your things? You know we have the help to tend to that,” she says snottily, turning her nose up and gliding away from him.

What a warm welcome back. His mother made the mandatory appearance to greet him and now she’ll disappear until dinner. This is the rhythm that she sets that he’s forced to match -- so he does; the organ in his chest barely twinges anymore.

This is the way things are. It shouldn’t bother him.

One of their house-elves, Fopkey, appears next to him and bends so low to the ground that her face almost touches it. “Young Lord, I should’ve attended to your luggage immediately. Fopkey is most sorry.”

Jughead bends down and lifts her body up, his hands grasping her shoulders. At least, she wears a full maid’s uniform -- something that he had insisted on when he was old enough to realize. Fopkey gasps at the contact.

“Haven’t I asked you to call me Jughead? I only have one trunk, Fopkey. I can bring it to my room just fine,” he says with an easy smile.

“But Mistress Jones-” Fopkey starts to argue, her eyes wide with unshed tears.

He shakes his head, anger and annoyance flaring up at hearing the mention of her. “I will handle my mother, if necessary. Now please, return to whatever task you were doing before.”

Fopkey appears to be conflicted, her tiny, bony hands clasped tightly in front of her. “If the young Lord pleases,” she says, trailing off in uncertainty.

“I do.” Jughead confirms with a nod.

With firm, sure steps, he walks away before Fopkey can change her mind. The further he traverses into the manor, the more the dread builds in the pit of his stomach. The dark grey walls are suffocating. Most students look forward to returning home for the winter holidays but he had always been the complete opposite. The only good thing to come out of these two weeks is that he will get to spend some much missed time with his sister.

Jellybean is so resilient. He doesn’t know how she remains so positive and unaffected by their surroundings. It’s something that he wishes he was equally adept at. Pureblood society has never extinguished her light -- she remains as effervescent and bubbly as usual.

It only drives him to protect her and shield her more. It’s why he builds his wall so high, his armor so strong. He needs to be that way for both of them.

Turning the corner, he moves down the long carpeted hallway filled with portraits of prominent Jones family members. He ignores the various negative commentary from the sitters, walking with long strides to the East Wing where his and Jellybean’s quarters reside.

This manor has been with the Jones family for centuries. Baron Jones, whose name literally means ‘noble man’ because of course, the progenitor of the Jones family in England, arrived in Britain with William the Conqueror who invaded in the Norman Conquest of England in 1066. When William overthrew the throne and became King William I, Baron was given a swath of land that was seized from local landowners.

Seized is one way to put it. Jughead prefers the term stolen.

As the centuries passed, the Jones family captured more and more of the countryside, annexing territory from neighboring muggles. With a few befuddling charms such as Obliviate, it was almost too easy for the Joneses to acquire more land, wealth, and power. There are rules and regulations put forth by the Ministry of Magic that prevent anything of this sort to happen now. But everything that occurred in the past was unpunished and forgotten, as if it never ensued.

No one acknowledges the shady history of Pureblood society. The Joneses were certainly not the first magical family that did this and they won’t be the last. There’s no accountability, just willful ignorance when faced with the unsavory aspects of the very foundation of their name and family.

To say that he has a tumultuous relationship with his ties and blood is an understatement. He hates it here. One day, when this manor is finally passed down to him, he’ll give it to Jellybean. His sister can do whatever she wants with it -- sell it, destroy it, burn it -- he doesn’t care.

It will never occupy a single thought in his mind ever again and that’s just the way he wants it.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

After dropping off his trunk, he wanders to his sister’s quarters but isn’t at all surprised that she’s not there. Jellybean is the type that’s always moving, always doing something, always so full of energy. She happily flits from one place to the next, taking everything in stride, like some sort of invincible ladybug. With her, there are no awkward silences. She fills it with stories and conversation.

Sometimes, Jughead thinks it would’ve made more sense if she had been the firstborn. She would readily overtake Pureblood society like a powerful hurricane, blowing past every single obstacle in her way. At the same time, he knows that she’s become the witch she is today because she’s allowed to be, less bound by obligations and rules because she’s the second-born and a daughter.

Jughead is fiercely protective of her just as she is him, even though she’s six years younger than him. With their parents being distant and unavailable for most of her childhood, he gladly stepped into that parental role and nurtured her. He gave her everything that he never got -- attention, love, support and care.

This is the root of why they’re so alike yet so dissimilar in so many ways. He likes to think that she took after all the best parts of him, his better traits, and molded it into her own version.

Jughead summons his patronus, flicking his wrist, performing the charm wandlessly and wordlessly.

The Akita emerges out of the blue mist and stands readily, waiting for its instructions.

“Find Jellybean and let her know I’ll be in the library,” he commands.

The Akita’s ear twitches, signalling that it understands its mission, disappearing off into the distance. Jughead turns and heads to the library, assured that she’ll find him soon enough. Knowing his sister, she likely wanted to be there to greet him at the door but lost track of time and got enveloped in another distraction.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The Jones family library holds over 100,000 books and manuscripts; it’s an astounding collection, renowned in Pureblood society for including some of the rarest first-editions and most desired volumes.

To Jughead, however, it’s not a bragging point. It’s his private escape, somewhere he can hide in solitude. It’s one of his most treasured escapes in the manor where he can disappear into the cavernous stacks and get lost in words and knowledge.

Here, amongst the revered books, the frivolous and trivial matters such as titles and obligations don’t matter. What does hold weight are the things that he actually cares about: beautifully woven stories of fairytales and worlds beyond that he traveled to often as a child, pretending for a few scarce hours that he’s somewhere else, somewhere happier. Or his preferred reading as he got older -- academic books about every single fact under the luminous sun: alchemy, charms, transfiguration, muggle studies, and so many other subjects.

He’s always been told that he’s brilliant -- his gift of memory is something that’s held in high esteem. So he surrounded himself in wisdom written by others. Facts arm him; they help form his shield.

His feet make the familiar path towards the older books in the collection. There are books within these walls that are thousands of years old, books bound with human skin, books that hold the darkest magic imaginable within its deadly pages. He’s learned to tread with caution as he peruses the stacks.

Tracing his fingertips along the shelves, he picks up no dust -- a testament to the care of their house-elves’ detailed work. His blue eyes dart back and forth, skimming through the titles. When he arrives at the Potions and History of Magic section, he casts a quick charm, collecting and levitating all the volumes before setting them in piles on a large desk in the back corner of the library.

Then he gets to work.

Jughead knows Betty’s stress levels have been at an all-time high, especially after the discovery of Gabriel’s body. They’ve been piecing together all the disparate pieces for weeks now and still haven’t found a single solid clue as to who the culprit could be.

It’s draining and exhausting.

He knows exactly why a part of her cracked and she tried to push him away. She still doesn’t realize that there’s nothing she could do that could ever make him stop -- make him stop fighting for her, for them and make him stop loving her.

Because he does love her.

It’s something so simple and true, something that he’s known for a while now but also something that he’s never vocalized to her. The words don’t frighten or terrorize him but the thought of her reaction does.

She’s not ready to hear it -- at least, not yet.

So, for now, he doesn’t utter a single syllable of the three small words that he so deeply feels. He’ll show her. That’s always been the method of communication that she responds the best to -- actions, not pretty phrases.

It’s why he’s gathered all the books the Jones family owns that are vaguely related to the topic at hand and pores through every single line. He wants to figure this mystery out, not only because someone is committing heinous acts at Hogwarts but because Betty wants to solve this mystery. She wants the answers, like she always does.

He wants to solve this piece of the puzzle because he wants to hear the excitement in her voice mixed with relief and happiness. Seeing these emotions pass through her face brings a headying rush -- something that he’s addicted to at this point. If he’s being honest with himself, just about everything she does furthers his need for her.

He wants it all -- her joy, her laughter, her sorrow, her frustration, her everything.

For the millionth time that day, he forcibly extracts himself out of his recurring thoughts about Betty and focuses on the pages in front of him.

Valerian root. Powdered Root of Asphodel. Fluxweed. Wormwood.

He repeats these ingredients in his head over and over again as he reads.

Losing track of time, he immerses himself in his research until his back starts to ache, protesting the lack of movement and static positioning. He stretches one arm overhead while the other holds yet another History of Magic book.

_Founded sometime in the 13th century, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic is situated in the Pyrenees mountain of southern France. Of its most notable alumni were Nicholas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle. Flamel, a renowned alchemist, is most famously known for discovering the Sorcerer's Stone sometime in the 14th century. By using the stone to create the Elixir of Life, Flamel and his wife have been able to extend their lifespan for over six centuries._

Jughead pauses after reading this excerpt. It’s perfectly innocuous -- a simple passage about a famed figure in magical history but something unnamed is pulling him to stop and digest the words further. He re-reads the text even though it’s not really necessary, not with his photographic memory.

The Elixir of Life.

It’s a potion. One which he does not know the ingredients for. He racks his brain, peering briefly into every file and can’t come up with what goes into it. It can’t just be the Sorcerer's Stone. Often with potions that need some sort of stone or amulet to harness its true power, it’s still necessary to brew a traditional potion with ingredients.

Anticipation builds up in the pit of his stomach as he searches through the piles and piles of books for what he’s looking for. It feels like he’s on the precipice of something -- what it is, he can’t exactly pinpoint but his body thrums with energy, hitting a loud vibrating buzz as he finds the book he’s looking for.

_Potions, Elixirs and Brewes._

It’s one of the oldest books in the entirety of the Jones library and incredibly rare. Only a few hundred were printed in its limited run. In its pages, it contains archaic potions, some with ingredients that are no longer in existence. It’s less functional and more for historic reference purposes. For that reason, it’s likely why Hogwarts doesn’t own a copy.

Jughead flips it open cautiously, his index finger trailing down the yellowed, cracking pages. A musty smell filters up into his nose; to most people, it’s unpleasant but not for him. He appreciates the sign of old age. About three-quarters of the way through, he finds the spell.

**_The Elixir of Life_ **

_**Use/Effect** : Extend the lifespan of those that drink it. If the user drinks this potion continuously, it will render them immortal. It is also able to heal and can restore a disembodied soul to full life._

_**Ingredients** : Water, Valerian root (2; cut), Wormwood (a handful; crushed), Fluxweed (a handful; coarsely ground), Powdered Root of Asphodel (3 pinches), Sorcerer’s Stone (1)_

_**Instructions** :_

  * _Boil water_
  * _Cut Valerian root into thin strips_
  * _Place strips in boiling water and stir twenty-three times counter-clockwise and seven times clockwise_
  * _Boil for three hours_
  * _Add crushed Wormwood in pinches, no more than eight_
  * _Stir ten times over five minutes, alternating clockwise and counter-clockwise_
  * _Add Fluxweed and Powdered Root of Asphodel at the exact same time_
  * _Do not stir, simmer for one hour_
  * _Allow solution to cool, stir seven times over three minutes, alternating clockwise and counter-clockwise_
  * _When heat can no longer be felt when a hand is placed above the potion, touch Sorcerer’s Stone to the brew._
  * _Potion should turn clear_
  * _Let sit for two hours before usage_



Scrambling to sit upright in his seat, the open book is jolted and sent careening across the smooth dark wood floors of the library. A set of feet wrapped in black satin flats stop the movement and the book settles in front of them.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Jellybean bends down and grabs the book off the ground, dusting off the front, before she tosses it in his direction. He catches it with one hand and places it down on the table carefully. Then he throws his arms outstretched with a wide grin.

In the next instant, she throws herself into them with an excited squeal of laughter.

“Where have you been, Dei? I’ve been back for hours,” Jughead asks as he pulls back, gesturing for her to sit down in the empty seat next to his.

His cherished sister goes by many names, all but her given one: Forsythia. When she was younger, she discovered the delights that are Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans; she consumed ten full boxes, all in one go, completely unnoticed. It wasn’t until Jughead found her in her hyper-sugar high state that he realized that she had done her first bit of accidental magic -- _Accio._

His mother was supposed to have been watching his sister but of course, she got distracted with the society papers and never noticed Jellybean wandering out of the parlor. After Jughead explained to her what had happened, her only response was that _Accio_ was such a common spell, such a shame Forsythia couldn’t have performed a spell with more substance.

A happy thing that came out of that incident is that Jughead dubbed his sister Jellybean, his very own Deimos, the personification of terror and also, the smallest moon in the solar system.

The nicknames are interchangeable.

It’s probably not coincidence that the two most important women in his life both have Astronomy related endearments.

Jellybean leans back against the chair and lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “Tea with mother, of course. She was providing me guidelines with how to attract the most appropriate suitor when I arrive at Hogwarts next fall.”

“You’re twelve,” Jughead bites out.

“I’m aware,” Jellybean replies with a wry grin. She shrugs nonchalantly as if she’s not bothered at all by it and Jughead believes that she truly isn’t. She will simply not follow her mother’s instructions, letting them slide away into oblivion as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

In that sense, he’s constancy and she’s impermanence.

With everything within him, he wants to help her break these binds of obligation. And he will. Jellybean will never have to do a single thing that she doesn’t want to. She will never have to marry for duty. He refuses to abide by it.

Jellybean taps the potions book with her fingertips. “Do you ever tire of reading? You have just come from school. Surely, you desire some sort of respite now that you are at home.”

“The manor isn’t my home.”

“Nice deflection,” she says with a wink. “I will indulge it for now. If the manor is not your home, then where is? Please don’t say Hogwarts. I would like to keep down the biscuits I just had.”

“Not Hogwarts,” he replies simply.

“No?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Sometimes Jughead thinks he’s taught her too well in terms of reading people. He can’t hide anything from her and when she wants to get to the bottom of something, she’s relentless. It’s a good thing he was planning on telling her this anyway.

“Do you remember Betty Cooper?” he asks, keeping his voice steady, revealing no hints.

“Oh yes, the illustrious Head Girl and the witch that you’ve been pining after for years? Of course, I remember her. What happened? Did she finally tell you that your fixation on her is creepy and unwelcome?”

Yes, indeed, he did teach her too well. That sharp tongue of hers is going to get her in trouble one of these days.

“No, in fact,” he responds smugly, interlacing his hands and setting them on the table. “She’s my girlfriend and I want you to meet her.”

It feels so good saying that aloud, to an actual human being, instead of just in his head. He rolls the words around his tongue and savors them, letting them twist and undulate in his mouth.

Jellybean’s jaw drops before she leans forward and an excited, strangled squeal escapes her. “Well, however did you manage that?”

Then she pauses, as if thinking something over. He doesn’t expect it when she rains smacks to his chest left and right down on him.

“Also, why is this the first that I’m hearing of this? I am outraged that you could possibly keep something of this enormity from me. A witch, with real, genuine interest in you! I never thought this day would be upon us so soon.”

He snorts at her comment before he gathers her wrists and pushes them gently away from him. “You know, your fists are small but the impact does still hurt,” he says dryly as he scoots his chair away so he’s out of reach.

“That’s the point.”

“Cease the violence or I’m not speaking another word.”

Jellybean grunts in an unladylike way before she throws her hands up in the air and slumps against her seat. “Fine, now on with it.”

00000000000000000000000000000000000000

That evening -- after a glacial dinner in which he barely spoke twenty words to his mother and of course, his father wasn’t present, too busy with a case -- Jughead speaks to Betty via Floo.

Her face flickers in the green fire but even through it, her stunning beauty shines brilliantly. He breathes in deeply, air filling his lungs, causing it to expand to a point of pain. It steadies him and keeps him grounded, the discomfort. Because he cannot -- absolutely cannot -- apparate to her right now. It would be reckless. Stupid. Completely against every single rational thought that ever existed within his brain.

Except now, seeing her with a bright smile on her face, all logic fades from his mind.

“I miss you,” he says instead of vocalizing his insane, obsessive thoughts. “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too.” She pauses, her eyes darting away. “It’s weird being here at Hogwarts without you. I don’t like it.”

Jughead can feel the warmth and affection emanating from her and so desperately, he wishes he can extend his hand and trace the delicate line of her face. His fingers twitch against his side, frenzied with desire to touch her.

“I don’t like it either,” he replies quietly, staring intently into the fire.

They’re both reticent for a bit, enjoying the content moment.

“How are things back at the manor?” Betty asks tentatively, the first to break from the daze.

He sighs before he regales with her the honest truth of his time back in the English countryside so far. Her brows furrow, the more he speaks and yet again, he wishes he could touch her right now. He usually finds so much comfort in the feel of her skin against his, the heat of her body melting into his.

He pauses when he's at the point of the recollection where Jellybean entered the library in search of him. And then he remembers what happened next: what he told her today and what he revealed.

It’s better to be honest. So without much preamble, he charges forward. “I told Jellybean about us today. I know you didn’t want us to reveal the truth of our relationship yet but she’s different. She's my sister. I can’t lie to her.”

His blue eyes piercingly take in every fluctuation in the green fire, needing to read and absorb her every response. But she’s not furious. She’s not frustrated. Contrary, she laughs. It surprises him.

“Oh my goodness, okay, now I feel so much better,” she tells him with a loud exhale. “I told Kevin.”

“Wait, what?”

Betty buries her face into her palm, peeking out through her fingers. “I know, I know. I’m such a hypocrite! We came back to the heads’ common room for some hot chocolate because it’d be quieter and less packed. And he found the gardenia you left me and read the note before I could stop him.”

Her words come out in a wild rush and she lowers her hand a bit, still covering her mouth. “Are you angry with me?”

“No, I’m not,” he answers instantly. “Remember, I was the one that wanted this all along? Well, this is great. How do you feel?”

“Surprisingly relieved? But I’m guessing it’s because Kevin is my dearest friend and I hate keeping things from him.” She appears thoughtful.

“What do you think of telling all our friends?”

Betty raises an eyebrow before replying teasingly. “But aren’t you friends with all of Gryffindor House, Mr. Golden Boy?”

He scoffs audibly. “Hardly.”

Then he looks down and debates how he wants to proceed with this. Does he want to pressure her? What’s the right move?

Before he can think any further, a ball of energy bursts into the room in the form of his beloved sister. The door flings open, hitting the wall, a loud thwack reverberating off of it. It doesn’t deter her at all. She slams the door back shut before she flings herself toward the fireplace.

“Hello there!” Jellybean greets eagerly, a wide smile practically splitting her young, innocent face apart. “My goodness, you’re beautiful.”

Though the fire is green, Jughead can still sense Betty’s blush. “That she is,” he agrees easily. He puts a hand on Jellybean’s shoulder and squeezes affectionately. “Polaris, this is my sister, Jellybean. Dei, this is my Polaris, Betty.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Betty says, eyes sparkling with humor. “Are you helping make his trip home somewhat tolerable?”

“Yes, I am rescuing my dear brother left and right. Honestly, I don’t know if he’d survive without me,” Jellybean responds airily, ignoring the way Jughead pokes her in her side. Giggles erupt from her as she’s always been ticklish. “I have no idea what you’re doing with him,” she says to Betty between gasping breaths. “Oh, can you stop?”

“Stop telling her lies,” he hisses out before he playfully pushes his sister towards the door. “Now go do something else that isn’t bothering me and Betty incessantly.”

Jellybean’s mouth opens in mock outrage. “I thought you said you wanted to introduce me to your girlfriend,” she says the word in a sing-song tone.

“I did. Now get out,” he responds drolly.

She merely rolls her eyes before she skips out of his bedroom. “Until next time, Polaris!”

“Bye!” Betty calls out to Jellybean’s retreating form. “She’s delightful.”

“She’s a handful. It's why I've nicknamed her after the god of terror and dread,” Jughead replies in return though his tone is warmhearted.

Betty laughs at his characterization of Jellybean. "Even across Floo, I can see how much you adore one another. I wish my relationship with my sister is like that." Her tone is wistful and sad, filled with regret.

"Is she still gallivanting across the magical world?"

"Oh yes, following her Sight, of course. I could never understand, according to her, because I was not born with such gifts." Betty rolls her eyes in annoyance before she shrugs.

“I must admit, I was completely unproductive today with research," she tells him, changing the subject suddenly. Jughead takes this as a sign that talking about her sister makes her uncomfortable. "Kevin took up most of my day but I am now in possession of all the latest gossip if you’re curious.”

He grins before he straightens, realizing that the news he has can’t wait any longer. It’s the biggest break in the case that they’ve stumbled upon so far. “As fascinating as that would be, I found something during my research today that you might be interested in.”

“Really?” she asks, leaning forward in eager delight. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Have you heard of the Elixir of Life?”

She scrunches up her nose in befuddlement. “You mean the potion that causes you to become immortal? The one derived from the Sorcerer's Stone?”

“Ahh yes, but it is, in fact, not derived from the stone. It still needs to be brewed before it can harness the stone’s power,” he explains.

“What are you saying?” she asks cautiously.

“I’m saying that in order to brew the Elixir of Life, you need Wormwood, Valerian Root, Powdered Root of Asphodel, and-”

“Fluxweed,” she finishes softly, holding her fingers to her lips. Betty shakes herself out of her thoughts after a second. “So, you’re saying that the culprit behind these attacks is in possession of the Sorcerer's Stone? But Albus Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel destroyed it.”

“There isn’t just one,” he tells her grimly. “You can create the stone through alchemy. Flamel didn’t just discover it, he was the first and previously, the only wizard or witch, that fabricated it.”

“So, you think someone’s managed to do that? Create another Sorcerer's Stone?” she asks incredulously. “That’s impossible. I mean, they must wield infinite power with that stone. It doesn’t make any sense. Why would they be stealing ingredients from the Hogwarts stores? If they’re truly that proficient, surely they could acquire these ingredients elsewhere?”

“Unless-” Jughead pauses, debating his next words.

“Unless what?”

“They’re a professor or a student and it was the most accessible place to get what they needed. That way, they couldn’t be tracked, not when they didn’t purchase these ingredients themselves.”

Betty lets out a heavy sigh before she bites her lower lip in thought. Jughead’s gaze is immediately drawn to it and he shifts in his seat.

“All along, I really wanted to believe this was the work of some powerful, evil force -- some deranged tyrant like Voldemort. But if it’s a student or a professor, they’re someone we interact with daily, someone we inherently trust,” she says in disbelief.

“Tom Riddle was also a student when he committed those atrocious crimes,” he reminds her.

“It’s so easy to forget that sometimes. It’s so much easier to just chalk it up to some demented, immoral mastermind.”

“Whoever’s doing this, that’s exactly what they are.”

Betty shakes her head lightly. “Juggie, why would the culprit need the Elixir of Life? What purpose does it have?”

“Well,” he starts slowly. “It’s main usage is to render the drinker immortal but it can do something else, something that I don’t believe the general population is aware of.”

She stares at him, waiting for him to continue with dread painted across her expression.

“A trained alchemist, someone adept at potion making, will know that it can also heal someone’s fractured and broken soul.”

Betty’s eyes widen, her face white as a sheet emanating a look of pure terror. "The students haven’t been receiving the Mandrake Restorative Draught. They've been getting the Elixir of Life? How is it possible that no one noticed this, especially Madame Pomfrey?"

"Both the Mandrake Restorative Draught and the Elixir of Life are clear. They're practically indistinguishable from one another. Everyone, us included, accepted at face value that the students were victims of the basilisk. No one thought otherwise, so no one paid attention," he answers.

"They weren't petrified,” she says in horror as the reality begins to truly sink in.

Jughead nods grimly as the realization comes to the forefront of his mind. He never was truly convinced that it was petrification as a result of a basilisk’s gaze. Oh how he hates that his hunch was correct.

“Whoever's done this, they’ve been splintering the victims’ souls, slowly killing them.”

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000


	14. Wingardium Leviosa - Levitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge hug and thank you to my dearest Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for looking this over and brainstorming with me. You are wonderful!
> 
> Another thank you to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for this sorcery. I am in AWE of your talent, my dear!! Thank you for blessing us all with your wonderfulness.
> 
> The description of the Manor is based on [Chatsworth House](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chatsworth_House).
> 
> The description of the Giant’s Causeway comes from [here.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giant%27s_Causeway)
> 
> Betty’s last line is inspired by that iconic lyric from “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol.

__

_When I close my eyes I'm going out of my head_  
_Lost in a fairytale, can you hold my hands and be my guide?_  
_Clouds filled with stars cover your skies_  
_And I hope it rains; you're the perfect lullaby_  
_What kind of dream is this?_  
_You could be a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare_  
_Either way I don't wanna wake up from you_  
_Your love's too good to be true_  
_My guilty pleasure, I ain't going nowhere_  
_Baby long as you're here, I'll be floating on air, cause you're mine_

_“Sweet Dreams” by Beyonce_

_**Fourteen: Wingardium Leviosa - Levitation** _

It’s been calm and peaceful -- almost, dare he say it, pleasant to be back home.

And therein lies his ultimate mistake, thinking that it could ever be pleasant to be back at the manor. Jughead has seen both his parents for a total of three hours since he’s been back for a week which is equivalent to approximately one percent of the time. He doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, this is almost preferable since he can spend his holiday break in peace with his sister.

It’s Christmas morning.

It’s still fairly early when Jughead descends the main staircase, nearing almost eight o’clock. He’s not expecting anyone to be up quite yet. Maybe Jellybean since she still gets excited about presents, holding onto the last remnants of youthful joy. But if she were awake, he would’ve expected her to barge into his room by now and shake him awake like she does every other year.

It didn’t happen today though. So it makes him wonder if everyone’s still sleeping.

As he approaches the sitting room where the tree and gifts are, he’s surprised to hear the sound of laughter and excited chatter filtering out. His first thought is that people have broken into their home and they’re currently in the process of ransacking the manor because it can’t possibly be his parents and Jellybean.

That would be absurd. He’s long since given up the fantasy of a Christmas morning spent gathered around the tree with all of his family, sipping hot chocolate and opening presents. It had been a glimmering reverie when he was younger and more foolish. But he no longer entertains these idle delusions.

He steels himself, wand at the ready, as he pushes open the door. The first thing he notices is how bright it is. All the shadows that typically enshroud the vast space have been chased away. The curtains are drawn, the morning light seeping in, bathing everything in a warm orange and yellow.

Jellybean whips her head around and then gets up from her seated position on the floor. She throws herself into his arms and gives him a giant hug. He barely has time to be surprised that his mother actually allowed his sister to sit on the floor to open the gifts. He’s trying to think of a time when she’s ever permitted that in the past.

“Good morning, sleepyhead! Happy Christmas!” Jellybean greets with a wide smile.

Jughead smiles back fondly and gives her a tight hug. “Happy Christmas.”

“Look at all my presents, Jug!” Jellybean shoves a purple floof ball into his face. “It’s a pygmy puff! Do you think it’ll sing tomorrow? I’ve heard that they’re supposed to sing on Boxing Day-”

“Forsythia, calm yourself, honestly. Take a breath and let your brother have a moment before the constant barrage of commentary. Come sit, Forsythe,” Gladys calls out, her tone light but the demand is clear underneath.

His mother and father are seated next to one another on the plush sofa but not close enough to be touching. Jughead’s steps towards the group are leadened and heavy, moving slowly as if any sudden movement would cause the mirage in front of him to disappear.

With narrowed eyes, he sits down on a leather armchair next to where Jellybean is on the floor. He rests a hand against the armrest and before he can open his mouth to speak, Fopkey appears next to him and hands him a steaming cup of coffee.

“Good morning and Happy Christmas, young Lord,” Fopkey says with a bow, holding the coffee out in front of her body.

“Thank you, Fopkey. Happy Christmas,” he returns. He takes a large, loud sip of the liquid, over-exaggerating the sound because he knows it’ll irritate his mother.

“Forsythe, is that really necessary?” Gladys rebukes.

Jughead sets the coffee cup down on the mahogany table that separates them. He glances between his mother and father. Finally, his gaze rests on Jellybean.

“Dei, do you want to go flying? I can teach you that backwards flip that you were dying to learn last year,” Jughead asks kindly, his tone soft and caring.

Jellybean turns around and starts to bounce, unable to contain her excitement. “Really? I thought you said I was too clumsy for it?”

“You probably still are,” he replies teasingly. “But thank goodness your big brother is a Quidditch star and a master at the craft.”

“Your ego never ceases to disgust me,” she retorts before she stands up and heads for the door, pygmy puff perched on her shoulder. “I’m going to go grab my broom and flying equipment!”

The pygmy puff trills its agreement before it settles back closer to Jellybean’s warmth.

“Can you grab my broom too?” he calls out to her rapidly retreating body.

“Ughh, can’t you just use Accio?” Jellybean yells back and he can hear the eye roll in her tone. Her sassiness is only one of the many reasons he loves her so much. He can always count on her to be honest.

“Too many fragile things in the manor that I could break!”

“Fine!”

When Jellybean is safely out of earshot, Jughead turns back to face his parents. He’s amused to see the horrified look on his mother’s face. She’s probably thinking right now how she managed to raise two heathens. The answer to that is that she never truly raised them at all.

Before his mother has a chance to comment, Jughead interjects with his question. “What’s happening here?” he asks, pointing his index finger out and motioning between his parents.

“Whatever do you mean?” Gladys returns, lips pursed into a straight, severe line.

“So, we’re going to pretend this is a normal occurrence?” he intimates with a raised eyebrow. A smirk begins to emerge on his face.

“Jug, please-” FP starts to plead, playing the mediator yet again, before Jughead interrupts him.

“What is it that you want for this? For this tiny bit of normalcy that you’ve awarded me and Jellybean this morning, what is it you want in return?” Jughead asks, avoiding the small talk and pretenses.

They’re after something. He knows it all too well.

FP appears as if he wants to continue to smooth this over but Gladys shakes her head, the family-oriented facade quickly dissipating.

“I’ve set up some teas for this afternoon,” she says matter-of-factly, almost as if she’s daring him to contradict her words.

“For?” Jughead prompts.

“So you can meet some potential options for your future bride,” Gladys replies, her tone bored. She flicks off an invisible piece of dust from her dress. “Did you think I would forget? It’s of the utmost importance.”

“Of course,” Jughead bites out, his teeth nearly turning to dust. He shoots FP a sharp look.

“Darling, we did say that we would wait until Forsythe graduated Hogwarts. We have all the time in the world.” FP poses to Gladys.

“But by that point, the most eligible options will have set their matches. No, we can’t have that. As a Jones, you deserve the best, not the leftovers,” his mother says insistently with a shudder, as if marrying a woman that wasn’t the best of the upper echelon of Pureblood society was the worst atrocity imaginable.

Jughead’s jaw twitches once. FP’s shoulders slump as he acquiesces.

“Surely, a few teas won’t hurt, son.”

Jughead looks away at the affectation, knowing that the designation holds no emotional weight with either of his parents. They don’t see him as their child; he’s a commodity, something that can be used for further gain and improving the reputation of their name.

The pitter-patter of Jellybean’s excited steps echo from the hallway and he knows that he can’t prolong this interaction further.

“Fine, two teas,” Jughead begrudgingly accepts.

“I have at least four planned. I can’t possibly cancel this last minute. You haven’t even met the ladies! I assure you, they are quite lovely and ideal for you-” Gladys starts to argue before FP rests his hand on her knee and squeezes it.

“I’m sure Forsythe has important matters to attend to. Surely he can’t be expected to entertain all day. Two teas sounds more than sufficient,” FP says.

She looks as if she’s going to argue, mouth open with the words ready to pour out. But after another squeeze on the knee, Gladys shuts it, replying sulkily, “As you wish.”

Jughead gets up from his seat and exits the room without another word. If he stays a moment longer, he knows he’ll voice something he’ll come to regret.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

“How long are you going to keep doing that?”

Jellybean’s curious voice breaks through the fog in his mind. Crap, she caught him. Jughead straightens upright on his broom, visibly trying to shake off his treacherous thoughts.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

“Yes, I noticed. You’ve been glaring at that tree down there for the last five minutes. I’m honestly shocked it didn’t burst into flames given your proclivity for fire-related spells when you’re feeling destructive.”

He bristles at her comment before flies a bit closer to her. “I am not destructive.” His statement doesn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.

Jellybean lets out an unladylike snort. “Sure, you’re not. Now, what happened with our parents? They must’ve done something to anger you this morning.”

“What didn’t they do?” he mutters. It’s not the answer that his sister is looking for -- the honest one -- so she continues to stare at him expectantly.

Jughead sighs before he looks away and off into the distance. The grounds at Jones Manor are quite extensive. As far as the eye can reach, all the land belongs to the estate. It seems like such a waste for only four people.

“I was hoping you didn’t notice,” he finally says.

“Then get better at hiding it. Stop deflecting and tell me.”

“I’m not deflecting,” he grunts out. He’s definitely deflecting.

After another few moments of silence and more prompting from her, he answers her.

“Mother is trying to select my future bride as soon as possible. She’s set up some dates for it this afternoon. It’s Christmas and this is what she decides to focus on. Father is complicit but that’s not surprising anymore.”

“But you’re dating Betty,” Jellybean states the obvious. As soon as she says it, the realization dawns on her face. “They don’t know about her, do they?”

“They don’t. No one can. That’s not what Betty wants.” His voice is defeated.

“Surely Betty would change her mind if she knew that you’re going out on dates with other witches. I know I only met her for barely a minute but I’m positive she wouldn’t want to share you.”

He wants to believe his sister’s words but he knows Betty. He knows that Jellybean is wrong. Betty would rather him attend these teas with witches that his mother finds suitable even though if it were the reverse, he would never abide by it. It would drive him wild with jealousy.

It’s not like he can stop them from happening at this point anyway.

“Betty doesn’t want to tell anyone and because of that, I can’t tell Mother my intentions. I just have to go on pretending that I’m not madly in love with her and that she’s nothing to me. Even though she’s all I see.” Jughead lets out a loud exhale, the breath escaping quickly from his lungs. It stings.

“Tell her you love her and I’m sure she’ll agree to telling your parents,” Jellybean insists.

“Telling our parents is essentially announcing it to the entire Wizarding world. First, Mother will make a fuss and discourage me from this relationship because of Betty’s bloodline. Then, after Father forces her to accept it, Mother will want me to declare my intentions publicly.”

Jellybean bites her lower lip, unsure of what to reply. He knows it’s because she knows just how right he is.

“It’s not fair to Betty,” Jughead admits. “It’s not fair to force her or rush her into anything. But time is against us here. I have a deadline to make her fall in love and commit to a lifetime with me. How is that fair to her?”

It’s the first time that he’s voiced these thoughts to anyone. It’s both relieving and terrifying to expose these topics. Talking about it makes it real. Remembering that he has a short timeline is a harrowing thought because what if it’s not enough? What if he’s not enough? What if she doesn’t choose him in the end? What if she chooses her freedom instead?

It’s unthinkable.

“She’ll choose you, Jughead,” Jellybean says simply. “I know she will. But you can’t keep hiding this from her. You haven’t told her, have you?”

“It’ll scare her off. I know her too well-” he starts to argue.

“That’s an excuse and you know it. How can you possibly expect her to trust you if you’re hiding something of this magnitude from her?”

Jughead shakes his head as he takes in her words. Neither of them break the silence, content in quiet contemplation for awhile. Jellybean is right. There’s a hint of truth in his fears but at the end of the day, what he’s thinking is just that -- a manifestation of his own fears and doubts.

“When did you get so smart?” he asks with a grin.

“I’ve always been this smart,” she sasses back.

He gives her his most devastatingly charming smile before he whizzes past her and does a backflip in the air. “Come on, enough dawdling. Let’s teach you this move.”

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Jughead’s first thought when the girl enters the room is that her perfume is stifling. It’s something reminiscent of florals but overwhelmingly, it’s musky and heavy, settling into the room in a poisonous chokehold. He wishes it were socially acceptable to cover his nose right now but instead, he settles for breathing shallowly through his mouth.

That’s a mistake.

He starts to choke and pounds his chest with a fist repeatedly, desperately trying to breathe normally. Alarmed and annoyed, Gladys comes to his side and pats him on the back awkwardly, unsure of how to do this correctly -- properly soothe her son when he’s in need.

“Are you alright, Forsythe?”

“Perfectly fine,” he replies with another cough. “My apologies.”

Gladys shoots him a pointed look which he readily ignores before she steps to the side and introduces their guest. “Forsythe, this is Reine Labelle. She’s currently in her last year at Beauxbatons. The Labelles, as you know, are direct descendants of King Charles VI.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says perfunctorily. What he doesn’t say aloud is that King Charles VI of France, later known as the Mad King, was most well-known for his army’s crushing defeat at the Battle of Agrincourt, where they lost to the English due to his incompetence. He doubts his mother knows this bit of wartime knowledge from Muggle history.

Dressed in a stunning floor length lilac gown, Reine looks like she’s ready for a gala and not a simple afternoon tea. Conversely, he’s dressed in dark grey slacks and a maroon sweater that he already considered fancy enough considering the occasion.

Apparently, he was wrong.

“Such a pleasure,” Reine replies demurely with a tiny giggle.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone so you can get to know one another,” Gladys titters as she exits the room with a graceful wave.

Reine sits down with a happy sigh and stares at him, saying nothing. She just keeps smiling, a flat expression with no warmth or authenticity behind it. It’s slightly creepy and off-putting.

Jughead clears his throat and plops one sugar cube and a bit of warm milk into his Earl Grey tea. He takes a sip. “How are your studies going at Beauxbatons?”

“My studies are progressing wonderfully though I must admit, academics have never interested me. There are so many more things to pass the time with.” She leans forward in her chair as if she's divulging some big secret.

“Really, such as?” he asks politely.

“I find social activities to be much more stimulating and engaging. Parties, galas, and such. Books bore me. I can’t wait to graduate so I never have to set my eyes on a book again.”

Jughead takes another sip of his tea, busying his hands because he can’t formulate a response to that. This is the woman that his mother has selected. The fact that she thinks that Reine would be a good fit for him proves how little she knows him.

“I’ve never visited Beauxbatons but I’ve heard the grounds are quite beautiful.” He tries to steer the conversation back to a safe topic that he can actually speak on.

“They are,” she answers immediately, her smile widening. He’s not sure how her lips aren’t cracking at the corners. “But nothing compared to your grounds here at the manor. It’s simply magnificent,” she replies deferentially.

She’s appeasing him or at least, she thinks she is but it has the opposite effect. It repulses him.

He waves his hand dismissively. “I’m sure our grounds pale in comparison to many. There are certainly others that are infinitely more captivating.”

“That’s nonsense!” she disagrees and he startles at her passionate correction. He hides it well and takes another large sip of his tea.

“The architecture alone is so impressive,” she continues, leaning forward as if eager for more tidbits.

“The original structure was built over a century ago but it was torn down in the 1700s and rebuilt in the English Baroque style. The architectural style was considered to be so radical and different that people called it an artistic revolution.”

“Hmm yes, I’m especially interested in seeing the North facade as I’ve read that it’s quite dramatic and sculptural,” she replies. At his surprised look, she clarifies, “I’ve done a bit of my own research about the manor already.”

“You’ve done research?” he asks curiously. That’s unusual.

“It’s precautionary, I assure you. After all, one day all of this will be mine too,” Reine says dreamily, an eager glint in her eye. “We’ll need to do some redecorating, of course, and add in a bit more color. I’ve always been a fan of pastels.”

He’s so befuddled that the only response he can manage is, “What?”

She cocks her head to the side and regards him as if he’s the one being strange right now. “Surely, you’re aware that our mothers have been corresponding about this. It would be a most advantageous match.”

“This is just a tea, Reine. That is all.”

“It’s a formality before we announce our inevitable engagement. I will be a dutiful wife.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, something so acrid and caustic that it scratches the lining of his esophagus as it bubbles out of his mouth.

“And now it’s over,” he says coldly, dabbing his lips with a napkin before he stands up from the chair.

Reine shoots out of hers, completely flabbergasted. She starts to make excuses to remedy the situation but he simply holds a single hand up, stopping her.

“I hope your holiday continues to be pleasant. Good afternoon,” he says dismissively before he exits the room.

Once the door shuts behind him, he leans against it, brushing his fingertips against the wood, feeling all the contours of the grain. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes in a deep breath, calming his heartbeat.

When he opens his eyes again, his father is standing in front of him, a few feet away. His expression is a mixture of surprise and confusion but he stays silent, knowing now is not the time for the platitudes that he would express.

“Enough of this,” Jughead bites out.

Then with a wave of his hands, he apparates away from the manor.

The last thing Jughead sees before a blur of colors and the familiar tugging on his stomach is his father reaching his arm out, body moving to stop him.

But it’s too little, too late.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The Giant’s Causeway is a scenic area in County Antrim in Northern Ireland made up of around 40,000 interlocking basalt columns. The scientific explanation for this natural phenomenon that the muggles give is that it’s the result of an ancient volcanic fissure eruption. The Wizarding community, however, knows that the columns are actually the remains of an ancient causeway built by a giant who accepted a challenge to build a pathway across the treacherous Northern Channel.

It’s a tale that’s illustrated in the storybooks that Jughead grew up with -- the ones that he learned to read to himself and later to Jellybean. When he was finally old enough to get an apparition license, the causeway was one of the first places that he apparated to. The distinctive interlocking columns look almost exactly like the way they’re drawn in the children’s books. Here, amongst the rocks and the ocean, he can focus on so much else besides the discord in his head. The fifth time that he came here -- after a fight with his father, of course -- he discovered a small cave towards the west side of the reserve.

It’s an area that muggles never tend to venture towards because of how far away it is. With a quick disillusionment charm, the cave becomes hidden from any stragglers.

He sent his trusty Patronus only moments after arriving at the cave. It’s been nearly a half hour since his Akita ran off to deliver his message to Betty. It’s dark and rainy out, the weather severely contrasting with the sunshine that he had just come from.

The gloominess dissipates after a few warming and drying charms. He easily starts a fire and soon, the cave is bathed in the warm glow emanating from the flames. Arms outstretched, he warms his hands against the fire.

The sight just outside the cave is magnetic and captivating. Torrential waves crash loudly against craggy rocks, dark blue mixing with slate grey and blacks. His gaze is fixed on the constant movement, distracting from his chaotic thoughts.

He hears the distinctive snap of apparition outside the cave and then she appears from the darkness, a stunning smile on her beautiful face as she walks in.

He doesn’t mean to rush towards her. Truly, he had meant to act more reserved and in control but the heavy weight on his shoulders immediately lifts as soon as he sees her face. He’s always so much lighter around her. Within seconds, she’s completely wrapped in his arms as he buries his face into her neck, breathing her in.

It calms him immediately.

“Polaris, I missed you,” he whispers against her skin, his tongue flicking out to taste her sweetness.

Her twinkling laugh warms his insides as she tangles her fingers through his thick locks. “I missed you too though it’s only been a week since we’ve seen one another.”

“Eight days,” he corrects moving his lips to hers and taking her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. He pours out all his frustration, the feeling of helplessness disappearing with every push and pull of their tongues.

Betty’s expression is dazed when she finally pulls back. She swipes her tongue across her lower lip as if she’s savoring his taste. Cocking her head to the side, she surveys him, concern entering her eyes. “Is everything alright? What happened?”

“My mother was up to her usual antics and my father did nothing to stop her. I’m sure you’re exhausted at this point of hearing all of this. I’ve been regaling you with all that happens at the manor on a daily basis. I must be boring you.”

She slaps his chest lightly at his self-deprecating tone. “I want to know it all. Tell me.”

And he does. He explains everything that happened in the course of a few short hours, not holding back about Reine Labelle and his mother’s plans for them. After he’s done, he holds his breath, unsure of how she’ll react. She’s quiet for a few moments as she takes it all in.

When Betty finally speaks, her tone is light. “Are you trying to tell your girlfriend that you went on a date with someone else?”

“Uhh, yes? This isn’t coming out right.” He shoves a hand into his hair and tugs at it.

“I think it’s coming out exactly the way it’s supposed to. If you’re worried I’m mad, I’m not. I know your mother forced you into that situation.”

“Really? You’re not mad?” he asks in surprise.

“No, I mean, would you be if our situations were reversed?” she returns, genuinely curious.

“Yeah, I’d be a little vexed, if I’m being honest,” he says hesitantly.

Betty smiles at him and lifts herself on her tip-toes, brushing her lips gently against his. “Reine means nothing to you just like any other woman your mother may want you to court. The only people that matter are you and I. You’ve proven that to me.”

At her words, he presses his forehead against hers, their noses grazing against one another. She’s come so far, putting every piece of her heart in his trust, knowing that he’ll always keep her safe. He kisses her reverently, cupping her face gently.

This time, he’s the first to speak after pulling away. “I’m sorry I took you away from your family on Christmas.”

“Oh, it’s fine. Honestly, the break from my mother was much welcomed. She was in the middle of another interrogation of what’s happening at Hogwarts. She had much to say about how terribly Headmistress McGonagall is handling all this.” Betty shrugs before she leans up and presses a kiss against his cheek. “When I got your message, I made up an excuse of how Kevin had an emergency, flew out the door, and apparated before she could say anything against it. Kevin was thrilled to cover for me and I’m sure my mother is at the Prophet office right now digging up anything she can about the mystery.”

“You lied to her for me?” he asks with a wide grin.

She pokes him in the chest. “I lie to her a lot because it’s the only way to survive in my household but yes, of course I did. I was worried about you.”

He loves her. He loves her so fucking much.

The fire continues to flicker, casting shadows against the walls of the cave. He murmurs the charm he created softly and small lights float into the air around them.

“I know I’ve said it before but these lights are so beautiful,” she tells him, awe in her voice as she looks around them.

This is the moment. Unwittingly, he’s created such a romantic environment and he knows that this is the right time to say the three little words.

And when they tumble out of his lips, he doesn’t feel any fear; a wave of contentment washes over him because he knows the veracity of his statement will overcome anything.

“I love you.”

His eyes are closed and he doesn’t open them quite yet. Instead, he lets himself feel the warmth of her touch as she continues to graze her fingertips against his chest. He listens to their steady breaths that match one another, as always. It’s all intensified when he takes away his sight, heightening all his other senses.

Blue opens to hold green. She’s smiling. Her entire being radiates happiness and tenderness. She’s so fucking exquisite.

She doesn’t say anything but she doesn’t need to. He knows she can’t say it back to him yet and he would never force her to. Instead, she throws herself further into his body, melding against his strong chest.

Jughead’s hand wraps around her head, fingers tangling with the gold silk of her hair. He pulls it to the side, attacking her neck with open-mouthed kisses, laving his tongue against her flesh. Looking down, he takes in the way her luscious breasts press against the thin fabric of her sweater. He hardens almost painfully against his slacks.

He wants to worship every inch of her.

Cupping her jaw firmly, he realizes how delicate she is, his large form practically engulfing her. The need to protect her rises in his chest. His thumbs strokes small circles into her cheek as he greedily absorbs each and every detail of her desire: her short breaths, the pink painting her face, and the wild hunger in her darkened green eyes.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmurs.

Hazily, she stares at him in confusion. “You are kissing me.”

He cups her pussy, pressing his thumb into her, feeling the heat emanating from her core. It threatens to burn him alive but he would walk willingly into it, wanting it to consume every part of him.

“Here.”

She mewls softly in agreement. “Yes.”

“Do you trust me?” he asks hoarsely. He’s asked this question of her many times now but he never tires of her repeated answer. It’s like a soothing balm on his tired soul.

“You know I do.”

Shooting her a devilish grin, he starts to peel the clothes from her body. She shivers against him and with a flick of his wrist, the fire ignites once again, flames bursting from the embers and ash.

“I don’t want you on the ground. It’s dirty and cold.”

A small laugh rattles from her lips. “Well, where else would we-”

Before she can finish her question, he waves his fingers in front of her body. “ _Wingardium Leviosa.”_

Her body lifts off the ground, suspended in mid-air. The height and angle is perfect for him to devour her at. Betty lets out a high-pitched squeal before she starts to giggle uncontrollably. She struggles against the weightlessness, clearly not used to being levitated.

“Oh, this feels strange.”

“It’s about to feel a lot better.”

The pads of his fingers are rough against her soft skin as he drags his hands up her legs. She starts to squirm as he touches her everywhere except where she really wants it, teasing every bit of pleasure from her body. He presses his face against her center, inhaling deeply. Her arousal is headying. He always knew he was addicted to her and her scent is only fueling it further.

He needs his fix.

With another flick of his hand, her underwear disappears. She tries to squeeze her thighs together for some friction and relief but his iron grip stops her. He shoves her open. Sliding one finger along her wet slit, he teases her clit.

“Juggie, please,” she chokes out.

A prolonged moan rushes out when he pushes one long finger into her. Her tightness surrounds him and he starts to fuck her with his hand. Her body responds so prettily to him, her thighs quaking around his head as he works another finger into her. Her fingers grip his hair and he delights in the slight twinges of pain everytime she pulls too hard. With his other hand, he strokes himself through his slacks.

Frenzied with desire, he desperately needs to taste her. Leaning forward, Jughead withdraws his fingers, loving the disappointed mewl that she expresses. He spreads her lower lips apart and thrusts his tongue into her. Her legs collapse against his shoulders, her whole body finally giving in, as he thrusts his tongue into her. He moves up to her clit, sucking at it. She’s soaking and he wants it to bleed into his skin, completely saturating him.

He switches off between his mouth and his hand, a continuous assault on her every sense. Betty writhes, her foot kicking out into nothing but air. Hooking one finger inside her, he finds her G-spot, grazing against it. This makes her cry out loudly and he’s thankful that they’re in the middle of an abandoned cave where she can scream out in pleasure as loud as she wants.

Her legs start to wobble and he knows she’s close. He wants her to let go. He'll catch her -- always; he'd never let her fall. With renewed effort, he sucks on her clit and her body explodes with a powerful orgasm. He follows after her, coming hard in his pants, groaning into her skin. He doesn’t stop tasting her. Only when she finally regains awareness does he move his mouth away.

_“Finite Incantatem. Scourgify.”_

Betty drops into his ready and welcome arms. Her eyelids flutter as she nuzzles into his chest, breathing him in. She's struggling to keep her eyes open, sleep fighting to take over.

“Sleep, Polaris,” he rumbles out.

Before she drifts off into her dreams, she looks directly into his eyes and traces a gentle line across his forearm.

“Those three words aren’t enough.”

She speaks it so quietly that if he weren’t holding her, he wouldn’t have heard it. Inhaling sharply, he doesn’t speak another word as she falls fully into slumber’s grasp.

And then, he just holds her.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000


	15. Diffindo - Cut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If this isn’t the ultimate love song, I don’t know what is. This one is extra long for your reading pleasure.
> 
> The exterior of the hotel that they stay at is the [Art Nouveau Palace Hotel](https://www.palacehotel.cz/en/) and the [interior](https://www.fourseasons.com/magazine/discover/best-penthouses-in-the-world/) is the [Four Seasons](https://www.fourseasons.com/prague/?seo=google_local_prg1_emea).
> 
> And of course, a big thank you to Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for all her help and mad editing skillz. Love ya!!
> 
> Another huge thank you to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for all her hard work on the header and listening to me go on and on about this story.

_What's going on in that beautiful mind?_  
_I'm on your magical mystery ride_  
_And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me but I'll be alright_  
_My head's under water but I'm breathing fine_  
_You're crazy and I'm out of my mind_  
_'Cause all of me loves all of you_  
_Love your curves and all your edges_  
_All your perfect imperfections_  
_Give your all to me, I'll give my all to you_

_“All of Me” by John Legend_

_**Fifteen: Diffindo - Cut** _

I love you.

Three words, three syllables, eight letters -- yet, the meaning behind them speaks magnitudes.

When she put together her 10-year-plan -- because, of course she has one -- she never even considered where love would come in. If you had asked her before this final year at Hogwarts, she probably would’ve selected somewhere further down in her timeline; definitely after she finishes her long list of desired accomplishments.

First, it’s graduating top of her class and as Head Girl from Hogwarts. Then, she would land the coveted role as an Unspeakable at the Department of Mysteries. After that, she would rise within the department because of her talent and drive and become the Head Unspeakable. Even that isn’t enough. She’s always wanted more for herself -- perhaps to become a Senior Undersecretary or maybe even the Minister for Magic. There’s so much possibility ahead of her when her ambition is unrestricted and unbound.

She’s never thought about where love would fit in. And she certainly never expected it to come first. But it has. Surprisingly, unexpectedly, determinedly, she loves Jughead Jones. It’s as simple as that.

And because of it, she’s also come to appreciate the unanticipated which is something that she never would’ve envisioned. He’s burrowed so far into her mind and her heart now that she knows that it would be impossible to separate him out.

This is what she has been afraid of all along. He’s tied herself to the core of her heart -- it pulses and pounds in frenetic rhythm when he’s near -- like he’s the master of it, wielding this unspeakable power over her. This should terrify her.

But it doesn’t. At least, it doesn’t anymore. Because she knows with every beat of her heart and with every flicker of magic that strums through her body that he will never hurt her. He would rather destroy himself before ever doing so.

It’s getting late, hours since the sun first dipped below the horizon line and darkness started to envelop the sky, piece by piece. She knows she should probably be sleeping. But there’s still so much for her to do. She’s been so busy with trying to solve the ongoing mystery at Hogwarts that she’s barely had time to focus on anything else.

For example, practicing defense spells that she’s certain will be tested in the practical portion of the interview for being an Unspeakable. Her mind has been so clogged with other predicaments that it only crosses her mind on rare occasions. Thankfully, she’s been practicing every so often, disappearing into the Room of Requirement where she can cast jinxes and hexes without any disruption.

Murmuring the charms to soundproof and ward her room, Betty waves her wand around, watching the clear protective fall over every inch of her private space. She can’t have her mother barging in on her demanding just what she is doing, after all.

Inhaling deeply, she cracks her neck from side to side, loosening her shoulders. Then she flicks her wrist and turns on the machine. It’s one of her own creations though to be fair, she really didn’t do that much to it. Sitting a few feet away from her on the other side of the room is a baseball pitching machine. Except instead of shooting baseballs at her, it shoots combat spells.

In her mind, it’s an excellent representation of what brilliant fabrications could be developed if the Wizarding world was willing to work with Muggle creations instead of banishing them.

A glass ball is thrown into the air and it cracks mid-way through its trajectory, a charm exploding from it. _Expelliarmus._

“ _Protego!_ ” A clear shield emanates from her wand and effectively blocks the attack. It’s pretty good -- fast and efficient. Especially considering most Ministry workers can’t even conjure a decent one.

But it’s not her best. She expects nothing less from herself, every time.

_Stupefy. Confringo. Incarcerous. Expulso. Petrificus Totalus. Reducto._

Again and again, she practices her defensive and protection spells. But it’s not enough. Some of the attacks are still getting through. Nicks and small cuts sprinkle along her arms and legs, tearing apart bits and pieces of her clothing as a result. But she doesn’t stop. She’s determined to perfect this. In some of her research, she’s read that the most proficient wielders of these defensive spells can create an impenetrable wall of protection.

This is her goal. And she’s going to accomplish it.

_Levicorpus. Furnunculus. Rictusempra. Relashio. Diffindo._

She stifles a pained groan when the last spell hits her exposed ankle, a clean cut emerging on her pale skin, painting it with drops of crimson. Compartmentalizing as she always does, she pushes away the pain in her mind, forcing her brain to focus on what’s ahead of her.

Protection. Defense. She can do this.

Another glass ball explodes in the air and this time, Betty harnesses the pain, using the sting and affliction. It heightens her tenacity and conviction, the energy practically erupting from her body and out her wand.

A protective wall emerges in front of her. Jinx after curse continues to fly from the pitching machine but it can’t penetrate the wall. Gasping with delight, she tries her best to hold it for a little longer.

But eventually, it’s too much and too draining. She collapses onto the ground, heaving in deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heartbeat. She turns off the machine and lays against her wooden floor, staring up at the ceiling, exhaustion threatening to consume her. The protective wards that she had cast start to disappear, dissipating into nothing.

She’s so ecstatic. And the only person she wants to tell is hundreds of miles away.

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“Elizabeth, why are you on the floor?”

Groggily, Betty opens her eyes. It’s so bright. She flings her arm over her eyes, trying her best to block out the light. What time is it? She has no concept of time right now. All she knows is that every bit of her body is aching and her muscles scream out with every tiny movement from their overuse. It feels like she can sleep for another 20 hours, still recovering from the aftermath of the powerful magic she did yesterday.

A small smile creeps onto her face as she remembers her accomplishment but she quickly masks it when she realizes that’s a strange thing to do in this household: smile for absolutely no reason at all.

Her mother stands above her, hands on her hips, dressed in sharp, tailored pink dress robes. They’re from a previous season -- after all, dress robes are expensive and it’s hard to keep up with the evanescent nature of fashion; but Alice wears it so proudly and confidently that she still blends in. Hair flawlessly coiffed and lips painted to perfection, she stares down at her daughter with annoyance clear on her beautiful face.

Alice lets out a heavy sigh before she nudges Betty’s foot with her pastel pink sensible heels. “You were up practicing combat spells, weren’t you?”

Betty opens her mouth to protest but before she can even get the words out, her mother interrupts her.

“No use trying to deny it. You look exhausted and you’ve never been a very proficient liar.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Betty asks wryly as she gets off the floor and stretches her arms overhead, getting the kinks out of her back. She smooths down the skirt that she accidentally slept in.

Alice expels another prolonged breath before she studies her daughter carefully. “How many times do I need to tell you that joining the Prophet after you graduate from Hogwarts will be a much more stable career? Do you really intend to continue to pursue this nonsense? It’s not sustainable, Elizabeth. You’ll run yourself into the ground.”

Betty walks past her mother and starts to head for the bathroom to start getting ready for her day. When has her mother ever cared about her workload? In all the years she’s been at Hogwarts, it’s always been “do more, do better”. The way she’s speaking now, it almost sounds like she cares about Betty’s mental health and putting too much pressure on herself. Internally, Betty snorts at this. That can’t be right.

She ignores Alice’s negative commentary. Instead of snapping at her, she tries one of Jughead’s favorite tactics: deflection. “I think one more time might do the trick.”

The Coopers live in a semi-detached house in the Southwest suburbs of London. There’s a reasonable four bedrooms and two bathrooms. Betty’s room is situated at the front of their south-facing house; the room is modest-sized, smaller than her Head Girl private room at Hogwarts, but it gets a lot of sun so she’s content with it. It used to be a struggle to share the second bathroom with her sister especially since Polly was prone to taking hour-long showers and then needed another hour on top of that to get ready for her day. Now that Polly is off frolicking across Europe, Betty savors the luxury of having her very own private bathroom at home.

Alice’s mouth drops open in shock as she follows her into the narrow space. “Elizabeth, I raised you better than this!”

Toothbrush in hand, Betty brushes her teeth the prescribed amount of time before she finally spits and rinses. She turns around, unsurprised to find her mother still standing at the door, waiting for an apology.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Clearly.”

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you and I’m sorry for that. But you know that I don’t want to work for the Prophet and I never will. I’m not giving this up. Weren’t you the one that taught me that?”

Betty steels herself, preparing for the worst but the words needed to be said. She’s already told her mother an infinite amount of times before but Alice always thought it was just a phase and that Betty’s interest would fade. But it hasn’t. This pursuit of hers, her future, and her desired career -- she can’t give it up. Rolling her shoulders back, she looks directly into her mother’s eyes, refusing to back down.

“You are incessantly stubborn.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” Betty quips back.

Alice rolls her eyes before she places her hands on her daughter’s shoulders, squeezing them tightly. “I don’t want you to fail and it is so easy to do so as an Unspeakable.”

“It’s worth the risk, Mom.”

“Is it?” Alice asks disbelievingly.

“It is,” Betty replies with a firm nod.

And suddenly, it feels like she’s talking about so much more than a job.

Alice lets out another sigh, something that she seems to do quite often when she’s around her daughters. She nods imperceptibly, so subtle that had Betty not been staring directly at her, she wouldn’t have seen it. Betty knows that their argument is far from over and her mother may never stop trying to convince her to work at the Prophet.

But at least, now, at this stage and point in time, Alice is willing to back down. That, in and of itself, is a miracle.

A hint of a proud smile flickers across Alice’s face before it disappears completely. She points at Betty’s bedroom.

“Now get dressed so I can cleanse your room. I’m sure all the spells you did yesterday left a heavy and unsavory presence.”

“Mom, really? Is that really necessary-” Betty complains before her protests are cut off.

“I don’t want to hear it, Elizabeth. Now, hurry up.”

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The British Ministry of Magic is located conveniently in Central London, right down the street from 10 Downing Street, the seat of the muggle Prime Minister; if it were above ground, it would have a gorgeous view of the Thames and the London Eye.

Betty doesn’t mind the underground location, however. In fact, she finds it interesting. When the tube was first built in 1863, the then muggle Prime Minister, Henry John Templeton, 3rd Viscount Palmerston, and Minister for Magic underwent discussions when plotting the location of the District Line. The Ministry had already been in its Whitehall location for well over a century and it would’ve been difficult to relocate. So, after careful negotiation, the city planners were told to start digging the subway line directly under Victoria Embankment and not a centimeter closer inward. This type of insight into history bores many, Betty’s well aware, but she’s always been the type to question what she knows instead of just accepting things blindly.

It takes a little less than an hour to get from her house in the suburbs to the heart of the city. She could’ve apparated directly to the Ministry if she wanted to but sometimes, she prefers to do things the muggle way. It may take longer but it’s so much more scenic and pleasant. She’s not quite used to apparating, the nausea and queasiness in her stomach is still unsettling.

The bus drops her off right down the street from the Ministry, making London easily accessible from her home. The cold air hits her face as she soon as she steps off and she pulls her wool jacket a little tighter around her body. Winter in London isn’t exactly pleasant but it’s not terrible. It’s definitely warmer here than it is at Hogwarts.

Looking up, she sees Kevin waving at her from across the street. Before she can deter him, he walks into traffic, jovially waving at drivers as he dodges the cars. A few honk at him but the jarring noise can’t wipe the grin off his face. She hugs him tightly and he embraces her just as fervently. When she pulls back, she notices that his cheeks are stained pink.

“Have you been waiting long? I’m sorry if I kept you.”

“Oh it was wonderful actually. There are so many attractive men that work in this area and I was getting my fill of eye candy.”

And just like that with a few simple words, the friends start to chat and giggle as if they hadn’t been separated at all. Kevin links his arm through Betty’s as they walk towards their favorite coffee shop. This is almost a practiced routine for them at this point. As the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Kevin’s father Tom Keller, is almost always working on-site at his Ministry office. When they want to arrange a coffee date in the city, Kevin tags along with his father to work and Betty meets him there.

The coffee shop is on a side street and though it’s in a busy neighborhood, it’s usually pretty quiet in the middle of the work day. They grab a seat by the window. Kevin orders a hazelnut skimmed latte and Betty gets a cappuccino.

They chat about their winter breaks so far. Kevin practically rushes her through her retelling of what he calls “the super boring stuff that I love you for telling me but let’s be honest, that’s not what I want to hear about”. She knows exactly what he’s after.

“Yes, I’ve seen Jughead once and no, I’m not giving you all the nasty details,” she tells him with a smug smile.

Kevin lets out an audible groan before he stops himself. “Wait, so this means there were nasty details involved? Come on, Betty boop, you can’t keep this from me! I tell you all of mine.”

She laughs when he juts his lower lip out in a ridiculous pout. “That information has always been given to me unasked. You are more than welcome to keep your risque dalliances to yourself.”

“That’s what friends are for! To provide you emotional support, hot gossip, and sexy details about their trysts. Where’s the fun in not sharing that?” he asks, genuinely perplexed.

Betty interlaces her fingers together, taking a long sip of her coffee as she considers if she wants to ask her next question. Blushing prettily, she hedges. “I do have something to ask you.”

Kevin waggles his eyebrows and leans forward, practically throwing his entire body over the table eagerly. “Oh really? Do tell.”

“Have you ever used,” she pauses, biting her lower lip and lowering her voice to a whisper, “magic during your rendezvous?”

The smirk on Kevin’s face deepens and he looks all too pleased. “Who would’ve thought Jughead Jones would be so creative? Now that’s a good reason for him to have such a big fanclub.”

“Can you please stop referencing my boyfriend with other people? It really dampens the mood. You didn’t answer my question.” Arms crossed in front of her chest, Betty sends him a withering glare.

“What kind of magic are you talking about specifically? Cleaning and contraceptive spells are quite common for reasons that I hope that I don’t have to explain to you.”

“Not that,” Betty clarifies. “Like levitation?” Her cheeks flush red and she resists the urge to bury her face in her hands.

“Holy shit, did you have sex in the air?” Kevin asks with awe in his voice. “That’s brilliant. I’m stealing that idea.”

“Not sex-sex more like oral sex?” It comes out as a question but she’s not sure why. Jughead most definitely went down on her, no question about it.

“Sex is sex,” Kevin insists with a shrug of his shoulders. “So, how was it? You have to give me more details than this. It’s just mean if you leave me hanging.”

Betty snorts with a shake of her head. She leans forward so that their foreheads nearly touch and starts to give her best friend a condensed version of what happened at the cave a few days ago.

“It was really intense,” she finishes. “But in a really, really good way.”

“Damn, I need someone to profess their love for me and then go down on me. That sounds epic.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth before he reaches forward and squeezes Betty’s shoulder. “I’m really happy for you. I’ve always wanted this to happen for you. You seem so much lighter and more content. It’s so wonderful to see.”

“I am happy,” Betty confirms. “He makes me very happy, sometimes it doesn’t even feel real.”

“Well, it is very much real,” Kevin tells her, affection in his eyes.

She pauses and looks out the window, watching as the pedestrians go about their normal day. But for her, today is significant. It’s not everyday that you tell your best friend that you’ve fallen in love. It feels like such a mammoth revelation to her, something that deserves for the world to stop spinning for one beautiful moment, in recognition of how immense this is. But it doesn’t. Life goes on as it always has as she fades out of her thoughts.

“I love him,” Betty says softly, letting the simple truth dangle in the air. She doesn’t have to see Kevin’s face to know that he’s shocked. “I think I have for a while now but I didn’t want to admit it.”

“That sounds like you,” he responds with a wide smile. “You deserve all the happiness in the world. You deserve this.”

Betty sighs contentedly and takes another large sip of her cappuccino.

Kevin sits back against his chair and after a few seconds, starts to grin like the cheshire cat. “Veronica is going to be pissed that you told me and not her about this development. In fact, you’ve kept all of this from her, haven’t you?”

Guilt flashes across her face. Betty bites her lip and nods begrudgingly. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell her. I do but I also like having what I have with Jughead in private. It’s so important to me and I want to protect it.”

“And you feel like the more people you tell, the more likely it’ll be threatened?”

Per usual, Kevin’s assessment is right with astonishing precision.

“I know it’s silly,” she voices.

“It’s not. You’ve always been a very private person and it takes you a really long time to fully trust someone. You need to get to a point where you know that your relationship can overcome it all. You’re scared right now because you think that everything outside what you have with Jughead is a threat and that if you open it to them, they’ll tear you apart.”

She bites her lower lip. “Is it so wrong if that is exactly what I fear?”

“No, there will definitely be criticism and judgment, I have no doubt of that. You’ll have to endure intense scrutiny and derision, possibly all the time. But you can’t let your life be led with negativity and fear. Eventually, it’ll destroy your relationship.”

Betty sighs heavily, fidgeting with the handle of the mug. “I know you’re right. Does it make me awful if I want to stay in our own little world?”

“No, it doesn’t. It makes you human.”

She snorts and shakes her head lightly. “I’m a witch.”

“You can be both, contrary to what Pureblood society might tell you,” Kevin answers wryly.

They both relish the mutual silence for a bit before Kevin interrupts it.

“Veronica already knows, Betty. She’s had her suspicions for awhile now. After we all returned from the Yuletide holiday break, she was planning on cornering you to convince you to ask out Reggie,” he divulges.

“What?” Betty responds, horrified. “Why?”

“Because she knew that you were hiding your real feelings about Jughead and that if there really was nothing going on between you two, you should be able to go on a date with Reggie.”

“Why that conniving little-”

“Wouldn’t you do the same thing to her? You are both Slytherins, after all,” Kevin points out.

Betty falters. “I suppose you’re not wrong. Well, thank you for telling me. Now I can properly foil her scheming.”

“Or you can just tell her the truth.”

“Or I can just tell her the truth,” Betty repeats. She averts her gaze and stares at the passersby, trying to find anyone and anything that can catch her attention. But nothing does. Slowly, she meets his eyes and nods. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right. Haven’t I made that abundantly clear already? Okay, stop pouting. We need to figure out how we can use this Jughead connection of yours to get Fangs Fogarty out on a date with me.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Betty comments good-naturedly. “Actually, while we’re on that topic. I have something else to admit to you.”

“What now?”

“Remember when we were talking about you dragging Fangs to that corner in the 3rd floor hallway and having your wicked way with him?” she prompts.

“Uhh, yes. Why?” he asks in suspicion.

Betty bites on her thumb, red returning to her cheeks once again. “I might’ve taken your suggestion and done that very thing that night.”

“You’re telling me that my best friend, the perfect Head Girl and responsible adult, has hooked up with a fellow student in a darkened corner of the castle hallways before me?” Kevin practically screeches out. “Okay, this settles it. You and Jughead are going to help me charm the pants off Fangs Fogarty so I can unleash all my depraved fantasies on him.”

“We’re a little busy-”

“Nope. Any argument against this plan is unacceptable. You guys are helping me and that’s the end of that conversation.”

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Magic is truly wonderful.

Betty is able to pack two days worth of clothing in her bag thanks to a shrinking and extendable charm. Jughead had owled her earlier in the week, letting her know that she should meet him at King’s Cross Station at the aforementioned time. Apus had delivered the letter to her late in the evening, after her parents had already gone to bed so it was away from prying eyes.

It just further showed how thoughtful he was about all her concerns.

So at nine o’clock in the morning, Betty arrives at King’s Cross. She actually arrived over forty minutes ago but after realizing how early she was, she popped by a local coffee shop and got a Chelsea bun and cappuccino for breakfast. Even though it’s still fairly early in the morning, the station is completely packed with people walking to and fro, going about their normal business.

When she sees him, it’s like one of those slow motion scenes in a romantic comedy. The crowd parts perfectly to reveal him in muggle clothing. Dressed in a dark grey peacoat, black turtleneck sweater and dark wash jeans, Jughead wears a huge grin, his eyes sparkling when he spots her.

In that moment, Betty doesn’t care who sees them. There’s no discretion about her chaotic movements as she bursts out into a jog, catapulting herself into his wide, open arms. He presses light kisses all over her hair, face, and neck as he breathes in her scent.

“I’ve missed you, Polaris.”

His deep baritone pressed up right against her ear is exactly what she needed. She didn’t even realize how much she missed him until this moment. She thinks a part of her brain forced that type of emotion away, choosing to keep her focused.

She pulls back and kisses him softly against his lips. His taste and warmth immediately penetrates her skin. A small voice in the back of her head tells her that she should probably stop kissing him now for propriety’s sake but she can’t stop. Jughead deepens the kiss, pulling her body further into his protection, his hand cupping her ass.

Betty giggles at the touch and she can feel his smile against her. She’s slightly disoriented when they finally end their kiss after several minutes but he has a tight hold on her.

“So are we taking a train? Where are we going?” she asks with child-like animation.

His arms come around to cradle her waist. “Not a train.”

“Then where-”

Before she can finish her thought, Jughead tugs her towards an abandoned alleyway behind the train station. Then he stops and turns towards her, pulling her back into him.

Holding her firmly, he lowers his mouth to her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. “Are you ready?”

When he asks her like that with dark, sensuous eyes and gruffly, all rational thinking flies out of her mind. She’s just a puddle of hormones. Forcing herself to nod, she gives him her affirmation.

In the next instant, she feels that familiar tugging once again.

And then, they’re gone.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Prague is cold -- very, very cold.

Betty wraps her light blue winter jacket further around her body as they walk up the steps to the hotel where she’s assuming they’re going to be staying during their trip. Jughead had apparated directly to the hotel's grand entrance so there must be some protective wards in place to ensure that muggles don’t stumble unsuspectingly on it.

Built in the Art Nouveau style, prominent in Prague’s architecture, the hotel spans the length of half a city block, occupying a corner of an intersection of two busy streets. The facade is painted off-white and there’s a softness about the building. The long, sinuous lines delineating windows, walls, and doors all seem to curve into themselves, showing no beginning nor end. It looks pristine, perfection in every facet of its characteristics.

As she steps into the lobby, surrounded by its sumptuous nature, she can’t help but gasp, her mouth slightly open as she takes in the stunning environment.

This is where they’re staying? Its extravagance is like nothing she’s seen before.

A well-suited man approaches them and bows deeply before he addresses Jughead. “Lord Jones, welcome back. We are most pleased that you honor us with your presence by staying with us once again.”

“Lord Jones is my father. Please, Jughead will be just fine.”

Lord Jones. Betty’s ears tingle at this designation and she suddenly has the immense desire to bolt in the other direction. This type of blatant wealth and opulence makes her uncomfortable, having never been surrounded by it her entire life. Jughead, meanwhile, seems so at ease because this is just another hotel to him. It’s not the most grandiose place he’s ever stayed.

It’s mundane. Average. Regular.

She’s still taking in the ambiance of the space when she feels herself being escorted towards the back corner of the lobby. It’s completely hidden from where she stood at the entrance and had she not been following Jughead, she never would’ve noticed it. In front of her is an elevator, plated in gold; she’s tempted to reach out and touch it to assess if it’s real or not. Once they reach the inside of it, she realizes there’s only one button. It’s a private elevator.

The doors close and they’re left alone.

It feels like several prolonged minutes pass as they ride it but the elevator keeps ascending. When the doors open, she gasps audibly yet again. It opens up to a short hallway. Betty takes the few steps that lead her to the main room. Well, rooms, it seems like. Vaguely, she wonders about the square footage of this palatial penthouse suite because she would not be surprised if it turned out to be bigger than her home in the suburbs of London.

Decorated in a mixture of golds, reds, and whites, the suite screams extravagance. Floor to ceiling windows adorned with gauzy cream curtains make up most of the living room walls. She spots a grand piano in the corner and wonders why it’s even a feature? Is this what rich people do, bring their own musicians and entertainment with them everywhere?

Jughead steps in with ease and walks into the kitchen, rifling through the fridge.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

When she doesn’t immediately respond, he pops his head around the door. “Polaris, everything alright?”

“I’m scared to come in.”

He stares at her with an expression of affection mixed with amusement. “Why exactly?”

“Because I’m scared I’m going to break something,” she says, gingerly taking a few steps towards him.

Jughead closes the door to the fridge and walks over to the large, circular dining room table -- because this suite has a dining room. With a swift move of his arm, he sweeps the ornate vase to the floor. It smashes into a bunch of little pieces, scattering across the marble.

Betty’s eyes widen at his actions. She doesn’t even want to think about how much that vase costs.

Then he turns to her and grins, waving his hand out at the broken vase. The scattered pieces on the floor jump up in reverse and form itself back into one single piece, returning to its proper location on the table.

“All fixed.”

“You can’t just go around breaking things and then putting them back together,” she says, hands on her hips.

“I know, Polaris and normally, I don’t make a habit of it. What I’m trying to convey is that you have no reason to be tense or nervous. Magic can fix anything and everything you break. And even if it couldn’t, do you really think I’d let you worry about something like that? Your gigantic brain has so much else to concern itself with.”

Betty rolls her eyes at him, knowing he has an excellent point, before she walks towards the windows. Pulling back the curtain, she sees a panorama of Prague. The hotel is situated right on the Vltava River. Directly in her view is Prague Castle, sitting atop a monumental hill. Buildings with white walls and orange-reddish roofs are scattered all around. To the left, she sees the Charles Bridge, the most famous in all of the Czech Republic. Constructed with sandstone blocks, the medieval stone arch bridge provides an important connection from Prague Castle to the city’s Old Town.

Betty traces each one of the bridge’s arches on the window, a hint of a smile on her face. It’s so beautiful here and so different from what she’s used to. The inklings of fear and hesitation she was sensing before starts to fade away with every passing second that she takes in this view.

Never in her life has she ever stayed in a room so magnificent. And, she’s here because of him.

Betty’s not startled when she feels Jughead’s strong chest against her back as he wraps his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, his smooth voice mixing with the air around them.

“Yes, it feels like a moment in history, forever captured in a city.”

“That’s quite poetic, Polaris,” he murmurs as he starts to kiss her neck gently, his tongue flicking out to taste her.

“I have my moments,” she muses lightly.

In the reflection, she can see their bodies melded together, his gaze intensely focused on her in the glass. He sucks on her ear lobe and she moans from the sensation.

“I can’t believe I’m here with you. I’ve always wanted to visit Prague,” Betty reveals, craning her neck to the side to offer him more access.

His fingers tighten around her abdomen. “I want to give you everything, Polaris. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of, everywhere you’ve wanted to explore, every single thing you’ve ever desired.”

His intoxicating words are like a drug but she knows that he ardently means them. He would move heaven and earth for her. That fact has been made abundantly clear to her.

She loves him so much. Her world is a vibrant cascade of colors because he’s in it. Looking directly into his eyes, she bites her lip shyly.

Exhaling, she speaks. “I love you, Jughead Jones.”

Jughead stares at her for a long moment, his expression masked and neutral. Then, the widest smile breaks out on his face and he leans in to capture her lips, whispering right before their mouths touch. “I love you, Betty Cooper.”

She turns slightly to face him, returning the kiss passionately. All questioning about whether or not she deserved to be here and feelings of inadequacy fade away. With his hands on her body, she can think of nothing else but the exhilarating pleasure.

Bit by bit, each piece of clothing they have on is stripped by their eager hands and thrown to ground. Betty rips her mouth away, panting, trying to take in breaths that her lungs desperately need.

“Where’s the bedroom in this place?” she asks.

His answer disappears on her lips as he grabs her head with his hand, pulling her body fiercely to his chest. He starts to back her away from the window and she’s assuming, towards the bedroom, when he lifts her up by the butt.

Her legs automatically wrap around his waist as she lets out a delighted squeal.

They’re still kissing wildly as he stumbles down a hallway, bumping her up flat against the wall every so often as he devours her relentlessly. When they finally reach the master bedroom, he deposits her on the bed gently.

She leans back, loving the way the luxurious fabric feels against her bare skin. Resting on her elbows, she takes a moment to admire his lean muscles and hard body. His abs are prominent, teasing her. Leaning forward, she runs her hand down the ridges, feeling the muscle pulse under her touch. Then she licks a long line up his abdomen, relishing in his spicy, salty taste.

“Fuck,” he grits out.

Jughead grabs her legs and pulls her to the edge of the bed before he kneels and buries his face between them. His mouth hovers over the inside of her thigh before he licks her soft skin there. Slowly, his tongue moves closer and closer to her center. She grips his hair, tugging at it as he sucks on her clit. He inserts one finger into her, the wet sounds obscene against the quiet stillness.

He flicks her clit with his tongue, dragging it across her center. He doesn’t slow down, never ceasing in giving her what she wants, grunting into her skin. The vibrations send tingles through her body and she purrs from the sensation. All the while, he continues to pump his index finger in and out of her pussy in a building crescendo. When it finally shatters, she comes hard against his mouth, euphoria imploding deep inside her. He hungrily laps it up, as if he’s possessed by her sweetness. Small shudders of pleasure continue to run through her body as she comes down from her high, completely flushed from her orgasm.

Betty grabs him by the shoulder, pulling him up for a kiss. Their tongues meld against one another as his fingers tangle into her hair.

“I want more,” she tells him.

He studies her intently before he asks, “Are you sure?”

“Very,” she replies as she wraps her legs around his waist, pushing his hard cock directly into her core.

Jughead slides against her with a strained groan. “Fuck, you’re greedy.”

She shivers, his dirty words turning her on even more. Hazily, she hears him murmur a contraception spell as he continues to slide his cock against her pussy, the head hitting her clit. Her fingers trail down the ridges and valleys of his hard chest.

“Juggie, please,” she moans, pushing her breasts up as she tries to get closer to him.

She feels like she’s practically incoherent with lust as he positions himself at her opening. He starts to slide into her, shallowly thrusting and getting deeper each time. The sensation feels tight like her skin is stretched across her body, straining. There’s a pressure and then a brief moment of discomfort that’s easily eclipsed by pleasure and the love that she sees shining in his eyes. Her mouth opens in an ‘o’ as he pushes in, inch by inch. When he’s fully seated, he holds himself against her, placing small butterfly kisses all over her cheeks and nose.

“Are you okay?” he asks through gritted teeth, as if it’s incredibly difficult to maintain control.

Betty nods, reassuring him. “Move, please.”

Skin on skin, completely bare, she can feel every single sensation his hard ridge is creating within her body. His size stretches her almost painfully, so big inside her, like he’s touching every bit of her. His lips graze her neck as he continues to thrust, fucking her faster and deeper.

“More, Juggie. I need more.”

Betty spreads her legs wider, allowing him to move even further into her as she pulses and contracts her inner walls. Her moans of pleasure spur him on as he starts to thrust harder, the gentle movements quickly dissipating. She throws her head back against the fluffy pillow, moaning as he slams himself deep inside her. He alternates his thrusts, heightening everything she’s feeling. Her thighs tremble with every powerful roll of his hips as he moves back and forth.

His kiss is deep and hard against her mouth, his tongue slipping in. Moving his hand to her clit, he rubs it. She moans louder, taking it all. The mix of pleasure and pain, the sensation of him thrusting inside her, and the feel of his hot breaths against her throws her over the edge. Her feet dig into the bed, her back arching as she comes.

His thrusts get choppy and messy before he pulls her hips firmly down as he orgasms, filling her with his warmth. It’s so intense, like everything is with him.

When she finally recovers, she blinks slowly, finally realizing that Jughead has been kissing her softly, on her neck, her shoulder and her chin, murmuring devoted words.

_You’re my everything, Polaris. I can’t get enough of you. I’m addicted to you. You’re my perfection. I love you._

He waves his hand and mutters a spell across the lower half of her body, cleaning her up. Lying next to her, his hands roaming her back, grazing against every bit of her skin. She moves and rests her head against his chest. Her eyelids get heavy, evening with the light filtering in through the sheer curtains.

“I love you, Juggie,” she murmurs.

Consumed by sleep, she doesn’t even stay awake to hear him say it back but she doesn’t need to. She knows he loves her.

It’s one truth that shimmers with brilliant clarity.

She drifts off, safe, warm, and content.

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	16. The Unforgivables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is literally just Bughead being cute in Prague. This is the calm before the storm so I wanted to give us all a hit of serotonin before we descend into madness.
> 
> Thanks to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for giving me the brilliant idea for a one-way glass! Also, thank you for this stunning header!!! THE FIREWORKS?!?!! Amazing!!
> 
> Another thank you to my darling Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for all her wonderful comments and editing skills. Love you!! 
> 
> Info about the Municpal House from [here,](https://thecreativeadventurer.com/dining-at-kavarna-obecni-dum-cafe-prague/) [here,](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Municipal_House) [here,](https://www.prague.eu/en/object/places/563/municipal-house-smetana-hall-obecni-dum-smetanova-sin) [and here](http://www.muchafoundation.org/en/gallery/browse-works/object/160).
> 
> Info about the Sedlec Ossuary from [here](https://www.nationalgeographic.com/travel/destinations/europe/czech-republic/things-to-see-bone-church-sedlec-ossuary/) and [here](https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/sedlec-ossuary).

__

_Didn't see it coming_  
_Swept up in your hurricane_  
_Wouldn't give it up for nothing_  
_Now I'm all caught up in the highs and the lows_  
_It's a shock to my system_  
_I don't wanna run away, so I stay_  
_My head gets messy when I try to hide_  
_The things I love about you in my mind_  
_I don't really know a lot about love_  
_But you're in my head, you're in my blood_  
_And it feels so good, it hurts so much_

_“About Love” by MARINA_

_**Sixteen: The Unforgivables** _

Betty wakes up to the smell of strong, aromatic coffee. Brushing the hair out of her face and yawning, she blinks her eyes open, pleasantly surprised when she sees a fully dressed Jughead carrying a silver tray of food as he comes into the room.

Leaning forward as he sets it down on the bed, she sees an array of Czech pastries, a large carafe of freshly-squeezed orange juice and a pot of freshly brewed coffee.

“Oh my goodness, this looks divine. What is all this?” she asks with a wide smile, gratefully accepting the mug that Jughead pours her.

“We’ve got strudl which is a puff pastry filled with apples and raisins, topped with powdered sugar, kolach which is made of a sour yeast-based dough and stuffed with a poppy seed paste, and finally buchty which is a bun filled with different types of jam,” he explains, pointing at each delectable treat.

“I don’t even know where to start.” The plush mattress bounces with her excited movements as she moves closer to get a better look at the varied selection.

“I’ve already sampled them all and I can assure you that they’re quite delicious. The strudl was my personal favorite.” To prove his point, Jughead grabs another one and starts to devour it.

“I see you kept yourself busy while I was asleep. Thank you for saving some for me,” she replies with a grin, starting to dig in. “I’m sorry I fell asleep. Did you have anything planned?”

“I could tell you were tired so I’m glad you got some rest. Plus, we don’t have any strict schedule for today. I figured we could do some sightseeing of Wizarding Prague as well as the muggle Old Town. The architecture here is quite stunning and there’s a lot of impressive artwork to soak up.”

She wraps her hands around her warm mug and inhales contently. “That sounds amazing. I can’t wait.”

“Eat up or else I’ll consume it all. Then we can start our adventure.” He pats the bed with one hand, the other holding yet another pastry.

“I love our adventures.” And she really does. From exploring the dust and spider web-infested Chamber of Secrets to frolicking the gorgeous streets of Prague, she wants to see it all with him.

He smiles softly down at her before he leans forward and kisses her on the forehead. “I love everything with you.”

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There’s a light sprinkling of snow as they walk around the Old Town Square, taking in all the stalls selling various food, arts and crafts, and other ephemera at the Christmas market. She’s too full to eat much of anything else but sips happily at her hot mulled wine as Jughead inhales some ham and trdelnik, a rolled pastry that’s sprinkled with sugar and spice. He insists that she have at least a bite, which she does after a few, minor protests. She’ll never not be impressed at Jughead’s enormous appetite. She’s witnessed him devour an entire plate’s worth of pastries and yet, he can still eat more.

It’s astounding.

How does he maintain his toned muscles and physique? She imagines it’s with a lot of Quidditch practice, flying, and working out. And suddenly, she has the image of him finishing a run, a trickle of sweat dripping down his glistening abdomen down to the sculptured v of his--

“Polaris?”

“Hmm?” she asks, snapping her eyes to meet his with a nervous smile.

He grins at her and offers her the last bit of the pastry. She leans over and takes the bite from his outstretched hand, her tongue curling around his index finger as she licks the stray bits of sugar from him. Jughead’s expression darkens and he’s still for a bit before he snaps out of it, shaking his head lightly.

“Behave,” he tells her with false seriousness.

She grins at him before she turns slightly, soaking in the ambiance. In front of her is the Church of Our Lady Before Tyn, an impressive Gothic cathedral, and behind her is the famed Astronomical Clock. Built in 1410, it is the oldest operating clock in the entire world. A smattering of buildings flank the church and the square, bustling with activity and people. It’s so easy to disappear into the crowd here.

Here, she’s not Betty Cooper: half-blood, Head Girl, with a burden of unlimited responsibilities. He’s not Jughead Jones: pureblood, sole heir, and nobility.

They’re just themselves and there’s something so indescribably delicate yet beautiful about it.

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The theme of the day seems to be eating so Betty is actually secretly grateful when Jughead tells her their next activity is a private tour of the Municipal House. Built in 1905, the Municipal House is on the site of the former Royal Court Palace; the previous building was abandoned with the dissolution of the state of Bohemia. Today, it serves as a concert hall, ballroom, and has restaurants and cafes on-site. The Czech people gifted the building to themselves. It represents the ideals of bourgeois and democracy, the pride of a nation and an important part of Prague’s history.

The first thing that Betty notices is how much glass and ceramics are used in the building’s design. It’s integrated with the iron and brick also present almost seamlessly. A jewel of Art Nouveau architecture ingenuity, the building lauds asymmetry and characteristics from nature.

Jughead leads her through the building and after a few minutes, she notices that there are no tourists or staff milling about which seems strange. She would’ve thought with the holiday, there’d be more people than usual.

“Why aren’t there people here?” she asks curiously.

Jughead smiles at her, his expression as if he’s been caught but he’s entirely unashamed of it. “I bought the place out for an hour. So we’re the only ones here for the time being.”

“You bought it out?” she parrots back in disbelief. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. I wanted this to be special for you, Polaris,” he says ardently, holding her clasped hands to his chest.

She relishes in the warmth and gets up on her tip-toes, placing a gentle kiss against his lips. “It’s special because we’re together. It doesn’t matter if we’re stuck here with a thousand random strangers or if it’s just you and me. It’s special because it’s us.”

She doesn’t usually do this -- say exactly how she feels in that moment and especially not grand proclamations of her emotions. But it feels right to say it to him. There’s no nervousness or overthinking associated with her words. They simply spill out of her mouth, uninhibited. Something about Jughead Jones just brings this romantic side out of her.

Jughead grins stupidly at her before he recovers from his initial surprise at her declaration. Then he leans down and kisses her deeply, plundering her mouth. Maybe it is a good thing that they’re alone.

She pulls away after several minutes, still savoring his taste. “Come on, we can do that later.”

“Do you promise?” he asks with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Only if you behave.” Her ribbing echoes his earlier words to her.

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” he bemoans.

He’s still trudging behind her when she opens the doors to Smetana Hall, the concert hall located on the first floor. It’s ornately decorated in gold with stunning frescoes adorning the ceiling. The expansive space is filled with empty seating that could probably fit hundreds upon hundreds of enthusiastic dilettantes.

“Hello!” Jughead calls out, his voice reverberating off the walls.

She turns to him, shocked, about to chastise him when she realizes that they’re completely alone. There is no reason in the world for her to stay quiet.

“Bonjour!” she bellows, enjoying the way the sound echoes off every surface.

“We’re in the Czech Republic, Polaris, not France.”

“I know! But I don’t speak Czech. How do you say hello in Czech?” she asks him, cocking her head to the side.

He huffs out a breath of air before he turns to her. “I don’t know either.”

They burst out laughing at that point before they go back to howling and making other obnoxious noises in the cavernous hall. Jughead wraps his arms around her midsection and she leans back into his chest.

It’s freeing. Ensconced in him, she forgets about everything else. There’s only him, only her, only them.

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Betty spends entirely too much time staring at the murals in the Lord Mayor’s Hall. Painted by Alphonse Mucha, a prominent Czech artist that found fame in his decorative theatrical posters, the designs depict the heroic past of the Czech people. Highly stylized, the figures are captivating and Betty finds herself getting lost in each and every hypnotic curve.

When their hour is up, hand in hand, Jughead leads her out into the fresh air. The chilliness paints her cheeks a bright pink and she bundles herself further into her winter jacket.

“That was so lovely,” she compliments. “Where are we off to next?”

“I thought you didn’t want to follow an itinerary, Polaris.”

“Old habits die hard, I suppose,” Betty says with a shrug.

He kisses her forehead. “Good thing I know you so well. I think you’ll like our next stop.”

“So you do have a schedule! I knew it.”

A self-satisfied smirk appears on her face and as if he can’t resist, Jughead peppers her face with small kisses. He casts a disillusionment charm to hide them from the many muggles roaming around in the busy area.

And then, they’re gone yet again.

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Kutna Hora is a quaint medieval town located in the Central Bohemian Region of the Czech Republic. It’s so idyllic that Betty never anticipates what Jughead had brought her here to see.

Hidden in an ordinary, small Roman Catholic chapel, beneath the Cemetery Church of All Saints, is the Sedlec Ossuary which contains the skeletons of between 40,000 to 70,000 people. Their remains have been arranged as artistic decorations and furnishings for the chapel. Some noteworthy examples include an enormous chandelier, a coat of arms, and six bone pyramids.

As she takes the stairs and steps into the empty space, she feels the breath rush from her lungs. She has no words. She simply stands there with wide eyes. They’re alone again and vaguely, she thinks of how Jughead must’ve rented this space out much like he did the Municipal House except this is a very different experience with just the two of them.

It’s eerie and a bit unsettling.

“What is this place?” she asks quietly, not raising her voice above a whisper, not wanting to disturb anyone or anything.

“It’s a bit disarming, isn’t it?”

“That’s one word to use,” she replies, stepping a little closer to him so that she’s practically attached to his side. “I was thinking more ominous and macabre.”

Jughead goes on to explain a bit about the chapel’s history which dates back to the beginning of the 13th century. Apparently, an Abbot brought holy soil from Jerusalem back, scattering it in the chapel’s cemetery. When word got around about this, the cemetery became one of the most desired locations to be buried in both Bohemia and the surrounding areas. Because of its popularity, they simply ran out of space. Especially following the 14th century when the plague overran Europe and caused nearly 30,000 victims to be added to the church’s cemetery. In addition, the Crusades brought 10,000 more casualties.

“So what? Someone went, wow! Let’s do some arts and crafts with these remains? That seems a bit disrespectful,” Betty comments.

“They were mostly undisturbed until the 19th century when the church hired a local woodcarver to create ornamentation from the bones. He was charged with arranging thousands of bones to what you see today. The bones were bleached and then organized like this.”

“It’s hard to fathom that process,” Betty murmurs as she stares straight at a skull, imagining the person that it used to belong to, flesh and blood instead of bone and dust, all those centuries ago.

“Does this freak you out? I’m sorry if it was a mistake to bring you here. I’ve always found it fascinating and a little quirky,” Jughead says into her ear, his arm circling her waist.

“No, no,” she reassures, leaning into him, trying to not get distracted by his alluring scent and the hardness of his muscles. “It just makes me a little sad to think about their lives. It’s a little dark when you consider it.”

He kisses her shoulder, his mouth hovering over it. His hot breaths fan across her skin. “I think it serves as a stark reminder that this life is evanescent. So take full advantage of it while you can.”

Betty tilts her head to the side so she can look at him. “Now who’s being poetic?”

Jughead grins at her. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Plenty more to see.”

“Actually, I have an idea of what we can do next.”

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’d you have in mind?”

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

“This is insane.”

“It is not! Did you hear my super thorough reasoning because I feel like I had excellent justifications?” Betty stands at the far end of the private gym that’s attached to the penthouse suite, hands on her hips.

“I refuse to do this, Polaris. You could get injured! Hell, we both could get injured!” Jughead returns, adamant in his argument.

She throws her head back and lets out an audible sigh. “We’ll be fine. There are parameters in place that would prevent any serious damages. I mean, how often do we get a fully stocked combat gym at our fingertips? It would be criminal not to use it.”

“Criminal?” he says with a snort. “I think what you’re suggesting we do is criminal. Besides who goes to the gym on vacation?” he mutters before he shakes his head visibly. “Do you ever go one day without being concerned about work or academics?”

“No, that’s against my very nature.” She walks over to him, gets on her tiptoes and kisses Jughead softly on the cheek. “Don’t act like you didn’t know this about me.”

“You know, most of the time your unwavering work ethic is quite adorable. But right now-” he pauses, letting his words linger with a bright, teasing smile.

“Yes, Mr. Jones? Please do tell how incessantly irritating I’m being right now.” She winks at him and he freezes before reaching down to adjust his joggers.

He grabs her chin firmly before kissing her deeply, thoroughly exploring her mouth. Then he pulls back and smirks, soaking in her disoriented expression. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Betty taps her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “You’re the one that keeps saying there’s no one at Hogwarts we can trust.” She deepens her voice. “Not even the Professors and certainly no students besides our closest friends.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“No,” she answers immediately with a devious smile. “Okay, maybe a little. Maybe you should throw some combat spells at me to teach me a lesson.”

He lets out a sound that’s a mixture between a grunt and a sigh. Then he moves a few feet away from her, his wand up in a defense stance.

Now that their Yuletide holiday is drawing to an end soon, she knows she has to start practicing the next part of her training, the part that she knows will inevitably come during her Unspeakable interview: casting the Unforgivable Curses.

They’re illegal and highly dangerous, some of the darkest magic in existence. But as an Unspeakable, someone who is supposed to defend against the evils of the magical world -- dark magic especially, she would need to be trained in it. It’s something that no one talks about but the truth of working in some of the most prestigious ministry positions -- an Auror, a Cursebreaker, an Unspeakable -- means that you need to be competent and understand the intricacies behind dark magic.

And the best way to do so, is to learn how to cast them. Then, learn how to protect yourself against them.

There are four practice dummies set up in front of them. Heavy, large pieces of leather stitched together with coated synthetic thread that are filled with sand. These are no ordinary dummies, however. It has multiple functionalities. The first, to absorb dark magic safely and dissipate it without causing damage or harm to its surroundings and the second, if desired, is to bounce the magic back at the attacker, acting like a mirror. It’s professional grade and expensive training equipment that she normally doesn’t have access to -- not even at the Room of Requirement; a Headmaster might’ve specifically forbade this type of tool as in the wrong or unskilled hands, it could be highly dangerous. But, of course, this penthouse suite is stocked with everything any witch or wizard could ever desire, this type of tool is included.

There are also wards set up in front of them so that any magic that’s aimed at them that they couldn’t block would hit an invisible wall and dissipate before it can do any damage. It’s the safest way to practice these sorts of spells.

They only have use of this gym for a limited time so she wants to make it worthwhile. She doesn’t want her first instance casting these spells to be in front of a panel of strangers that are grading her on her performance. This is her best chance at succeeding and she’ll do anything for that.

Rolling her shoulders back, she widens her stance so her feet are steady on the ground. “Ready?” she asks.

“Ready,” he confirms.

Then she rears back and casts her first Unforgivable.

_“Crucio.”_

Well, that was anticlimactic. A fizzle of red light emerges from her wand, barely zapping the air with any energy. Betty lets out a heavy sigh. And this is the exact reason why she wanted to practice. Gathering herself, she tries to cast it again.

_“Crucio.”_

A red spark flashes from her wand before it dissipates into nothing.

She turns to Jughead and watches him as he tries. He lets out a long, deep breath.

_“Imperio.”_

Betty watches as he commands the dummy to move an inch to the right before his control seems to waver. Jughead tries to hold it, his face a mask of concentration, but he can’t. He takes in gasping breaths of air as he recovers. Almost immediately, the magic bounces back at him and he holds out his wand, bellowing out his command.

_“Protego!”_

The spell bounces off his shield and then he stumbles backwards.

“This is so draining,” he says as he stops his right hand from trembling. He rights himself back up and stands next to her.

“That was really impressive, Juggie,” she compliments. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Jughead looks intently at her, cupping her cheek. “It’s not a bad thing, Polaris. It’s supposed to be hard to cast dark magic. In fact, if it was easy for you, I’d be concerned.”

“But you were able to-” she starts to protest.

He blocks them with a firm kiss to her lips. Licking the seam of her mouth, she opens to welcome his intrusion. She’s reluctant to pull away several minutes later but she forces herself to focus on what they were doing before.

“You’re very good at distracting me,” she murmurs against his mouth.

He grins. “That’s the point.” Wrapping his arm around her waist, he nuzzles the side of her neck. “Not being able to cast an Unforgivable on your first try is what you want. The only reason why I’m vaguely able to do it is because my father is head of the Department of Mysteries and I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit dueling with him when he feels like he wants to grace me with his presence.”

His admittance makes her feel infinitely better. He’s so good at doing that -- making her feel valued, talented, and good at what she does. It’s something that she cherishes so much because, finally -- she’s enough.

This isn’t the type of emotion she needs to channel for dark magic though. So she closes her eyes and collects all the anger and frustration inside her. It’s surprisingly difficult to do since she’s been so blissfully happy around Jughead but their relationship hasn’t always been a straight line.

There were curves in the road. There continue to be obstacles in their journey.

With this in mind, she rolls her neck from side to side before she holds her right hand out.

_“Crucio.”_

It’s a funny feeling, dark magic. Nobody tells you about how powerful it makes you feel when you’re finally able to cast it. Nobody mentions that it’s hypnotic and mesmerizing to see the way your target writhes and undulates to the pulses of your wand. Your every command is followed. Complete control is within your grasp. It’s thrilling. That sort of power is as much headying as it is precarious.

And that’s exactly why it’s dangerous.

Betty clutches her chest as she feels the grip she has on her wand loosen. It falls to the ground, clinking against the cement floor. It all happens in slow motion. She feels faint, like the blood is rushing away from her brain, draining into the ground beneath her.

She thinks she’s falling. There’s a sense of vertigo, dizziness in her mind and her vision becomes blurry. A flash of red and then she’s wrapped in warmth before she steels herself against the impact of the floor. But it never comes. Instead, she drops into something warm and strong.

And then, there’s nothing but darkness.

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Betty blinks awake to the sound of excited cheering outside. Her eyes flutter open and she sees that she’s safely bundled up under a pile of blankets and pillows. Pushing them aside, she stretches, every single muscle protesting against the movement. She’s alone in the master bedroom of the suite and the lights are off. Darkness shrouds her though she can see light peeking in from the hallway.

It feels late.

Looking down, she notices that she’s still in her workout gear. The memory of what happened before is fuzzy and unclear. She thinks she remembers successfully casting an Unforgivable but after that, she doesn’t know. Padding barefoot into the living room, she’s comforted to see Jughead standing by the floor to ceiling window.

It’s not that she’s scared to be alone. All her life, it’s been hammered into her brain that independence is the key to a successful career and way of being. It’s specifically centered around him. Being away from him, even for a brief period of time, makes her heart contract in her chest and her lungs deflate, desperately trying to take in that next breath of air. It’s harder when he’s not around, not impossible, but incredibly difficult.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she wraps her arms around his sculpted abdomen, kissing his back. He’s changed into a mustard yellow sweater and dark grey slacks, looking entirely too delectable. He turns to her, his blue eyes flashing with relief. Pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face, he kisses her forehead.

“I was worried about you.”

Betty leans into his chest. She’s never been one to associate physical touch with affection because of how she was raised but she finds that around Jughead, they’re always touching somehow. He always has his hands on her, sometimes in small, seemingly insignificant ways. But she’s come to adore it. She loves the connection, on so many levels.

“What happened?” she asks.

“You don’t remember?” he replies, concern evident in his voice.

She shakes her head to answer in the negative.

Jughead lets out a deep sigh before he pulls her closer. “You successfully cast a _Crucio_ that lasted for a few seconds and then you fainted. The spell bounced back at you but you were in no condition to protect yourself against it so I stepped in and casted a shield. We were both unharmed, thankfully. Then you fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. I don’t think I could’ve even if I tried.”

“I can’t believe I fainted.”

“I’m just glad it wasn’t anything worse than that. This is the reason why dark magic is so forbidden. It takes from you in ways unknown. It’s dangerous and I don’t ever want to do that again,” he says firmly.

“But I needed the practice,” she argues. “It’s better to have done that in a safe space for my first time trying to cast dark magic with someone I trust and I know is capable. Also, it proved that I need to work on defending myself against it. It’s not like it’s unavoidable in the line of work I want to go into.”

“You could’ve been hurt.” His voice cracks and immediately, she feels guilty for pushing this with him.

Betty hugs him tightly before she kisses his chin softly. “But I wasn’t and it’s because you were there. You protected me.”

“I might not always be around to protect you, Polaris. Just promise me that you’ll be careful. There’s some big evil entity lurking around Hogwarts and I’m terrified something might happen to you. I know you want to solve this mystery. I want to just as much but I need you to be careful.” He holds her clasped hands in front of him, pressing them against his chest. “It’s not just your heart you have to worry about but mine as well.”

“I promise that I will try to be more careful.” Even as she says it and means it with every part of her heart, she knows herself too well. Her words are structured carefully. She will promise to try, not to be. Because, she will try. But a part of her will always be a little reckless, enjoying the rush of adrenaline that it brings.

Betty leans forward and kisses his hands that are holding hers. Looking up at him intently, her lips meet his in a passionate embrace. They break apart when they hear the loud chanting coming from outside.

“50, 49, 48, 47!”

“It’s almost midnight?” she asks, her gaze darting around to find a clock.

“It is. You were asleep for a while,” he murmurs. Leaning down so his mouth is at the shell of her ear, he joins in. “39, 38, 37.”

They count down together and just as they’re about to reach one, she says, “I wish for another year of this with you.”

She knows it’s not commonplace to make wishes on New Year’s but it’s something that she’s done since she was a child. It’s a tradition that she holds close to her heart. Usually, she only says her wishes in her mind, never voicing it aloud. But it feels right for Jughead to know too. After all, it’s about him.

“I wish for an infinite amount of years with you because I’m selfish,” he says, playing along with her lead.

The fireworks start to boom across the sky, lighting it up a flurry of colors and shapes. The night sky turns almost red and purple, bathing everything and everyone beneath it in warmth. Even though the celebrations are so close and they’re practically directly overlooking it from their standpoint, there’s only a slight noise that filters through.

The room is still. It’s just the two of them.

“Happy New Year, Juggie,” she tells him with a wide grin.

“Happy New Year, Polaris.” He kisses her gently before the kiss becomes deeper and his tongue is thrusting into her mouth, coaxing her.

An explosion of light and sparkles directly in front of their window draws their attention away from one another. Betty laughs joyously at the display. There’s something about fireworks that she’s always loved. Anytime they appear before her, an instantaneous smile emerges on her face.

With one arm firmly encircled around her waist, the other comes up and before Betty has a chance to ask what he’s doing, a flash of light erupts from Jughead’s wand. The lights dance in the air before it slowly drifts to the ground. Another one shoots out from his wand, this time in red and yellow. Then another in green and silver. The colors blend together seamlessly, creating a stunning symphony of hues, almost like they were always meant to be displayed this way.

“Aren’t you scared the muggles will see?” she asks, leaning into him.

“That’s the beauty of this holiday. I can cast as many light charms as I want and it’ll seem like they’re simply a part of the celebration.”

“That’s rather sneaky for a Gryffindor,” Betty comments teasingly.

“I’m learning from the best.”

She feels him breathe deeply against her, as if he’s memorizing her scent. He kisses her neck and then her collarbone.

“Thank you for bringing me here. This little break from reality has been just what I needed,” she murmurs.

Looking at the window and down at the crowd, she imagines there must be so many people frolicking in celebration. But she doesn’t want any of that. What she wants is here in this room, lost in their own world and one another. He knows her so well. It’s not even something she realized she would’ve preferred until this very moment.

But he knew when he was planning this trip for them. He always knows.

She turns to him, craning her neck upwards when he doesn’t respond. His expression is stormy like he’s struggling with himself, debating something in his mind. Betty cups his cheek with her palm.

“Everything okay?”

He opens his mouth to respond but the words seem to die on his lips. Clearing his throat, he shakes his head.

“Everything is wonderful, Polaris. It’s always wonderful when I’m with you.”

It feels like there’s a tenseness in the air, lingering with his unspoken thoughts and words. She wonders if she should press him but before she can think any further, his mouth moves down to her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin. The thin mesh of her workout shirt does nothing to protect her from his blazing inferno. It singes her in the most delightful way.

Jughead sucks her earlobe into his mouth, nibbling gently. When he speaks, his voice is gruff and raw. “I love you, Betty. I love you so much. Always remember that.”

Her response is muffled by his lips pressed up against her mouth; it turns into a moan as he rubs his hands down her sides. Her fingernails skim the dips in his abdomen, the muscles pulse under her touch. She feels the fabric of her shirt tear away from her body.

With wide eyes, she looks up at him. “I liked that shirt!” she protests.

“I’ll fix it later, I promise,” he murmurs before his tongue sweeps into her mouth again.

She removes her leggings quickly, not convinced that he wouldn’t also rip them off of her because of his excitement and eagerness. They’re her favorite pair. Reparo works but she’s found that sometimes it fits weird afterwards, not conforming perfectly.

All thoughts are pushed away from her mind when his hands come up to cup her exposed breasts, his thumbs flicking across her nipples. She moans into his mouth and helps him strip himself of his sweater and slacks.

Betty whimpers as his mouth closes around her breast, his tongue teasing her nipple relentlessly. She threads her fingers through his dark hair. He pulls one of her arms down and guides it to his throbbing erection. Wrapping her delicate hand around him, she slides it up and down his shaft.

He pulls back with a pop of his mouth. Something that sounds like a growl emits from his throat as he picks her up by the ass. She hops into him, her legs automatically wrap around him. The momentum knocks them both over and they tumble to the couch in front of the window. He lands first, protecting her and she giggles as they go down.

“We are not very graceful, are we?” she asks as she straightens her upper body, straddling him.

“Well, if it ends up with us being naked and you on top of me, I can’t really complain, can I?”

She laughs at his annoyingly charming response. He’s achingly hard, his large length pressing up against her stomach, precum leaking across her skin. Lifting her hips, she rubs herself against him, the head of his cock hitting her clit before it’s drenched in her desire. Turning her head, she sees the night sky continue to explode with fireworks and colors. The glass is so clean and clear that it almost acts as a mirror. The reflection of their nakedness and compromising position makes her cheeks flare up.

“Won’t someone see us like this?” she asks hesitantly.

Jughead brushes the hair out of her face before he kisses her softly. With his other hand, he casts a cloaking charm so that no one can see in. However, they can still see out.

“I doubt anyone is peeping in on us since the fireworks are still going. But you’re right and I don’t like the thought of someone else seeing you.”

“Wow, someone’s awfully possessive,” she teases with a smile, tracing a line with her index finger down his chest. Headying desire shines in her eyes as she looks down at him.

Vaguely, she hears him murmur a contraception spell before he grabs her ass, lifts her, and impales her on his cock with one swift action.

“You have no idea,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

They both moan aloud from the sensation, a bit of pain mixed with pleasure which is exactly how she likes it. It takes her only a few moments to adjust to his size, her walls fluttering around him. She leans forward, hand pressed on his chest, as she starts to move up and down slowly, savoring every inch of him, drawing out the pleasure. He’s impossibly deep inside her in this position, hitting parts of her that no one else has ever seen.

He sits up which causes him to slide in even further inside of her. Betty bites her lower lip, muffling the moan that threatens to escape. Jughead’s hands grip the globes of her ass cheeks as she rocks above him. He nibbles her lip before he thrusts his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the actions his cock is currently doing to her body.

He meets her thrust for thrust. She throws her head back, her breasts at the perfect angle. His mouth skims between them, alternating from one to the other. Her hips continue to swivel and dip with every panted breath that escapes from her soft, pink lips.

Her orgasm starts to build in the pit of her stomach and she moves even faster against him. His grip on her waist tightens as he raises his hips, thrusting hard into her, filling her to the hilt. She gasps, blinded with pleasure. His hand comes down to her clit, rubbing it furiously, sensing she’s close. Picking up speed, he thrusts powerfully into her before he pinches her clit. Collapsing into him, she comes, her mouth open in a silent scream, her pussy soaking his length as she milks him. He groans as he comes, his release roaring through him.

They fall back against the plush couch, the cushions threatening to engulf them. He pulls out of her and she feels their combined release run down her thighs. In some primal way, she loves the reminder of their pleasure, sticky against her skin. Cradling her against him, she tries to catch her breath. He casts a few cleaning spells and grabs a blanket, wrapping them both in warmth and softness.

A kaleidoscope of dazzling colors and lights dance in front of them as the fireworks continue going off. Betty nuzzles her nose into his neck, breathing him in.

Content and blissfully happy, she wants to stay in this moment forever -- away from reality and anything that threatens this wondrous and fragile thing that they have in their possession.

She’s not ready for what’s out there. Or what comes next.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000


	17. Locomotor - Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You already know I have to send a million hugs and thanks to Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for all her hard work beta-ing this chapter. Also, your comments give me life.
> 
> And another giant thank you to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) who has somehow been able to see directly into my mind when making this header because this is EXACTLY what I envisioned.

_You're in my blood_  
_You're in my veins_  
_You're in my head_  
_I'm saying it's you, babe_  
_And I'm a sucker for the way that you move, babe_  
_And I could try to run, but it would be useless_  
_You're to blame_  
_Just one hit of you, I knew I'll never be the same_  


_“Never Be The Same” by Camila Cabello_  


**_Seventeen: Locomotor - Move_ **

They’re back.

Apparently, the only thing that Hogwarts needed to return back to business as usual, completely forgetting about the ongoing mystery, was a few weeks off to celebrate the winter holidays. The hallways are abuzz with students discussing the latest Bent-Winged Snitches album and/or lamenting about how their vacation ended too soon.

It feels sort of like selective amnesia because the mystery is still very much on his mind and Betty’s. It’s as if they’re the only two students in the entire school that still care.

As Jughead walks down the stone-lined hallway towards the Headmistress’ office, all he hears is everyday chatter, purely innocuous. Arriving at the stone gargoyle, he mutters the password.

“Spotted Tabby.”

The door starts to shift in front of him, revealing the circular staircase. He steps on and then it ascends. Even though he and Betty have been having bi-weekly meetings with the Headmistress as part of their Heads duties, there’s always a sense of unsettledness that rests at the pit of his stomach every time he comes here. It’s not that he fears Headmistress McGonagall -- though she is fearsome; it’s more like this office is where all sorts of news is delivered, good and bad alike.

So, every time he comes, a part of him anticipates the worst. Maybe he is a pessimist like Jellybean always says he is.

As he steps off the staircase, he sees a familiar head of blonde hair. She has it down today, which is unusual for her, though the style only emphasizes the softness of her tempting curls. He wants to reach out and run his fingers through it before he twists the strands into his grasp. Like most of their meetings except the very first one, Betty arrives before him. She likes to be prepared and for her, being fifteen minutes early to meetings is right on-time. He won’t ever forget how frazzled she was that time she was late though; the harried look in her eyes only made him fall deeper. He should’ve known then that it’d be impossible to resist her.

Betty turns when she hears his footsteps, giving him a polite smile.

Right, they’re still doing this, pretending as if they’re not wholly obsessed and in love with each other. As if she’s not his first and last thought every day. As if they didn’t wake up in his bed this morning, wrapped around one another, legs and arms entangled in some unsolvable puzzle. 

Jughead plops down into one of the chairs in front of the Headmistress' desk, the picture of nonchalance. 

“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Jones. I need to grab one last file,” McGonagall tells them, turning her back towards them as she sorts through her papers on her side desk.

He takes the opportunity to squeeze Betty’s knee, winking as he does it. Betty grins at him, shaking her head lightly and crossing her legs in the opposite direction away from him. She sticks her tongue out and he has to quickly remove the stupid smile he has on his face when the Headmistress turns back around.

“I trust you both had a pleasant holiday,” McGonagall says. 

It’s not an invitation for small talk, this much he knows, more of just a general statement and perfunctory nicety. They both nod in response. 

McGonagall sits down in her chair, her back as stiff as a rod. For the next thirty-seven minutes, they discuss the usual matters that concern the Heads: the new rounds schedule for the spring semester, any issues about the prefects, and updates regarding the general maintenance of the castle.

“Oh and the first-year boys bathroom near Ravenclaw Tower is having plumbing issues. So please pass along the message to the prefects that it’s out of order once more.” 

“Again?” Betty murmurs as she scribbles the note down onto a large piece of parchment that’s already filled with important highlights from this meeting. “I thought that all the first-years were scared of that corridor since the Grey Lady prefers it.”

She seems to be accidentally voicing her internal thoughts out loud absentmindedly. It’s so adorable that it takes everything within him not to reach over and kiss her forehead. He pushes down these urges and instead, lifts his chin in acknowledgment and interlocks his hands together, preventing himself from doing anything stupid.

McGonagall barely takes a breath before she launches into the next matter of business. 

“You will be pleased to hear that the Department of Mysteries has chosen to move forward with both of your applications. Your interviews will be scheduled at the end of the month. In addition to a written exam, there is a practical portion in which you will duel with a current Unspeakable.”

Jughead clears his throat and leans forward in his chair. “This is excellent news, Headmistress. I’m sure Betty will be most impressive in this interview.”

He pauses for a moment, watching confusion flit across both McGonagall and Betty’s faces at his compliment. “I’d like to withdraw myself from consideration,” he continues with a flash of one of his signature charming smiles. 

“Mr. Jones, I don’t understand.”

“What?”

The Headmistress and Betty speak at the same time, both clearly surprised at his sudden declaration.

“My goals have understandably changed these last few months and I’ve decided not to pursue this opportunity any further. Besides, everyone in this room knows that Betty is the better candidate. I had no chance to begin with.”

His smile never wavers as they recover. McGonagall does so first.

“While this is disappointing news as I believe you would’ve been a competitive candidate, I think the interviewers will be quite impressed with Ms. Cooper.”

Betty clears her throat loudly before she answers. “Disappointing, indeed,” she says, echoing McGonagall’s words and narrowing her eyes on Jughead.

“Ms. Cooper, I will be in touch with further details in terms of scheduling. If you both have nothing else to discuss, you may be dismissed.”

They both voice their thanks and goodbyes before heading for the exit. As the stairwell descends, Jughead brushes his hand against Betty’s and she squeezes it. Relief floods through him as he prepares himself for the inevitable questions she has. Following her through the hallways, he’s impressed with how composed she is while they’re in front of potentially prying eyes. He knows she must be gathering her thoughts and processing them; outwardly, her face is neutral, showing no glimmer of what simmers underneath.

Reaching their private quarters in record time, he walks through the doorway after her. She whirls so fast on him that her long, blonde hair flies all around her like a golden aurora.

“Explain.” It’s short and straight to the point. He expects nothing less from her.

“I was never interested in becoming an Unspeakable. I had an agreement with my father that he is taking considerable latitude with. I’m merely following his example.”

Betty’s brow furrows as if she doesn’t understand what he’s saying. “So you applied for the position when you didn’t want it?”

“I did. It wasn’t all bad though. It was a great excuse for me to spend more time with you and for you to finally pay attention to me if you saw me as a competitor. It was a way I could insert myself into your life after wanting to pursue you for years.” The words spill from him without another thought. It feels freeing to be able to voice this to her.

“Years?”

“Years,” he reaffirms. “You have no idea how frustrating it was when you would never give me the time of day, barely acknowledging my presence. All you cared about was academics or solving Jason Blossom’s mystery and uncovering what really happened.”

Betty bites her lower lip as she considers his words. When she doesn’t try to contradict him, he realizes that she’s accepting his statement as truth. After all, she’s always been singularly focused and driven. It’s a trait that he’s always admired about her.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier that you were never interested in the position?” she asks softly, her eyes gentle.

“Because I know you, Polaris. You would’ve somehow managed to turn this around like this is your fault and felt guilty about me backing out. You would’ve been incredibly and adorably stubborn and forced me to stay in the running. I used the element of surprise to my advantage. Can you blame me?” 

Taking a few steps towards her, his arms wrap around her waist as he kisses her forehead. She rests her face against his strong chest, mumbling incoherently into him.

“I didn’t catch that,” he says with a light laugh.

Raising her face from his chest, she stares into his eyes. “I wouldn’t have done that.”

Knowing better than to argue with her, he hums his agreement. 

“So what do you actually want to do?”

The answer is on the tip of his tongue before she even finishes the question. “I’ve always been interested in Astronomy, either research or teaching,” he murmurs into her hair, kissing it. 

“That makes sense. So why don’t you pursue that?”

“Because a Professor at Hogwarts is nowhere near reputable enough for my mother who doesn’t even want me to work and the only job that my father will allow is to follow in his footsteps,” he answers honestly.

“What they think and what they want me to be doesn’t matter to me now,” he continues. “I’ve actually arranged to meet with the Head of the Astronomical Society in London next week to talk about a Research Scientist position.”

She smiles warmly. “That’s amazing, Jug. I’m so happy for you.”

Jughead brushes a strand of hair out of her face. “People paying attention to me and actually wanting me to come in is another perk of my family name, I suppose. But I don’t want to be under their control anymore. That’s no way to live. Besides, someone brilliant once told me that my own wants and needs are more important.”

Betty blushes prettily when he echoes the words that she had said to him in what seems like eons ago. “I would be proud of you no matter what you decided to do. You are worth more than your career. All of this-” She waves her hand around their heads, signaling to his brain. “It’s just a fragment of what you are. Yes, you are brilliant but you’re also compassionate, loyal, and brave. I love you for all those other traits, not just your intelligence.”

Every single one of her words makes his heart soar. He can’t hold her tight enough to him like he wants to bind himself to her always. And he does want to, so fervently. Her mouth finds his as she tilts her head upwards to meet his lips.

She’s his forever, his always, his Polaris. Nothing will ever change that.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

“How did you get Gabriel to agree to this?” Betty asks as they walk towards the Gryffindor Common Room.

A smirk emerges on his face. “Sometimes, my last name has some perks. Let’s just say his parents were more than willing to help in any way they could.”

“Coercion?” she asks jokingly with a wink.

“Nothing of the sort,” he says, grinning back at her. “All it took were a few invitations to some social gatherings my mother is planning this Spring. Honestly, they probably would’ve been invited anyway but this guarantees it.”

“That seems so trivial.”

“To us, certainly. But you’d be both surprised and horrified at the amount of people that vie for an invitation every season. It’s another way my mother exerts her influence.” He shrugs as he describes this, so matter-of-factly as if he’s no longer bothered by it. 

Taking in Betty’s wide eyes and bewildered countenance, he raises his arm and squeezes her shoulder -- a purely platonic gesture as seen by the outside world.

“We’ll have to be careful when we question Gabriel. I’m still not convinced he’s not involved in some way,” Jughead reveals.

Betty’s brows furrow. “Why would he poison himself? He was one of the targets.”

“That may be but we can’t trust anyone at Hogwarts right now. Besides, the culprit is also healing the victims after splintering their souls. So, why couldn’t it be him?”

“I still find that to be strange,” she says, lowering her voice as they pass by a group of second-years who are traveling in a pack down the hallway. “What’s the purpose of all the terror and mayhem if they’re being healed almost immediately afterwards?”

“To cause exactly that, terror and mayhem,” he answers.

“But why? What’s the goal here?” Betty insists. “I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes, there isn’t a why,” Jughead poses. “Sometimes, they just want to hurt other people purely for the sake of it. Or maybe they just want attention. Look at all of Voldemort’s followers in the Second Wizarding War. So many of them joined him not because of the cause but because they liked the sense of belonging and power they felt when they joined him. It didn’t matter if it was all fake and disappeared the instant they felt any resistance. They still craved that spotlight.”

“That’s alarming and disheartening,” she replies softly, the weight of his words sinking in. “It just makes me sad to think that’s the reason they would join in with a psychotic tyrant and mass-murderer.”

“I know,” he says quietly. He slows his steps as he arrives in front of the entrance to the Common Room on the lavishly decorated Gryffindor Landing. 

Jughead waves at the portrait of Lenora Lyles who has dutifully guarded the door for decades. Today, she’s dressed in a pink silk gown, her brown hair falling down over her shoulders in ringlets. She’s holding sheets of music and he realizes that she must’ve been in the middle of practicing her scales. Singing has always been her passion, one that she’s likely never going to give up on. She smiles widely when she notices him.

“Jughead! You haven’t been by in so long. What a pleasant surprise this is,” the portrait tells him. “Oh, and I see you brought the Head Girl. I’ve heard lots of talk about you, dearie. As stunningly brilliant as she is beautiful.”

Betty blushes prettily at the compliment, murmuring her thanks at the kind words.

“You’re looking gorgeous as usual.” He grins and winks at the portrait.

“Oh, ever the charmer!” Lenora gushes, clearly enjoying the attention. “Now, come come. I’m sure two important students like yourselves have places to be and things to do.”

_“Memento Vivere.”_

The door swings open with a flourish after Jughead says the password. 

“Remember to live,” Betty murmurs.

“What?” he asks.

“That’s what the password means in Latin,” she explains.

“Is there anything you don’t know?” he teases.

She shoots him a self-satisfied smile before they start to walk in. Betty immediately moves closer to him as they enter the unfamiliar space -- unfamiliar for her at least. Some sort of primal feeling of needing to protect her rises up within him and he moves his body so that he’s shadowing her. It’s not as if someone would attack her or anything in the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room but he can tell she’s nervous. And that makes him want to safeguard her from all harm even more than he usually does. 

A sense of nostalgia washes over him as he enters. The common room has been a comforting home for him for six long years. There’s so many wonderful memories that space holds. Circular in nature, the room is filled with large windows, plush armchairs and couches, as well as a roaring fireplace. It’s the heart of Gryffindor Tower both literally and figuratively.

“Jug!”

Jughead’s head whips in the direction of the call. When he realizes it’s Reggie, he shakes his head and laughs before they embrace, patting one another’s back. He looks behind them when he doesn’t feel Betty’s familiar presence next to him. She stands a safe distance away, her hands clasped in front of her as she looks around awkwardly like she doesn’t want to interrupt the friends.

“Polaris.” Jughead cocks his head to the side, signaling for her to join them.

Her steps are hesitant but he’s pleasantly surprised that she doesn’t try to argue with him. She arrives at his side, her arm so close to his that with an innocuous brush, they would be touching.

“Hi Reggie,” she says with a wave of her hand.

“Betty, it’s always nice to see you. Have you been keeping this one out of trouble?” Reggie asks with a wink. His gaze darts down to Jughead and Betty’s close proximity; his grin deepens. He claps his hand over Jughead’s shoulder, shaking him and giving his best friend a knowing look.

Jughead shoves him off playfully, giving him an imperceptible yet hard stare, one that only the two friends see and understand. “I think we’ve actually been running in the direction of trouble.”

“You guys still investigating?” Reggie asks, his voice dropping and his tone suddenly becoming serious.

Jughead nods wordlessly, his lips forming a grim, straight line. 

“Stay careful,” Reggie says to him. Then he turns to Betty and flashes her another smile, the uncharacteristic austerity in his tone and demeanor suddenly disappearing. “I trust you to take care of him.”

“Sorry I can’t stay. Quidditch calls!” Reggie starts to walk away before Betty can answer. With his back to the door, he yells out to Jughead. “Yo, when are we going to hang out? I miss you.”

Betty stifles a giggle at Reggie’s declaration. Jughead pretends to be annoyed. 

“You’re clingy.”

“You love it, Jones. Don’t deny it. Alright, I’ll come stalk you later,” Reggie announces to the whole common room unabashedly. He departs as quickly as he appeared.

“Wow, he’s a whirlwind, isn’t he?” Betty comments with a smile.

“You’ll get used to it,” Jughead replies before he looks around. When he sees no one is paying attention to them, his hand comes to the small of her back as he guides them towards the corner to sit and wait for Gabriel.

She doesn’t pull away from him and that tiny victory makes him want to fist pump the air like a doofus.

Throwing himself into the chair, they barely have time to get comfortable before Gabriel is trudging down the staircase and into the room, an annoyed expression on his face. 

“Let’s get this over with,” the 5th Year mutters before he settles into the chair. He shifts several times in it like he’s perpetually irritated.

Betty leans closer, her green eyes shining with concern. “How are you feeling? I’m sure your holidays were affected by what happened to you.”

“They were as jolly as ever,” Gabriel says acerbically, narrowing his eyes into a sharp glare at Betty.

“Hey, watch your tone,” Jughead warns, his expression darkening.

“Jug, it’s okay,” she whispers quietly so only they can hear it. Turning to Gabriel, she tries again. “Anything you can tell us would be so helpful.”

Gabriel crosses his beefy arms in front of his chest, annoyance still dripping from his every movement. “I don’t understand why I need to repeat myself to you two. I already told the Headmistress and Madame Pomfrey everything I remembered when I was in the infirmary.”

Jughead grits his teeth, his fists tightening as he tries to temper his frustration. 

“All we’re asking for is your help with this. I’m sure you don’t want someone else to get hurt,” Betty reasons.

Gabriel lets out a heavy, prolonged sigh before he nods once, so quickly that it was barely noticeable. “I’ll talk to you, Cooper. I hate you, Jones, so please make yourself scarce.” Then he sits back against the chair with an arrogant smirk that Jughead wants to wipe off with several punches directly to Gabriel’s face.

Betty trails her fingers across Jughead’s back, touching him lightly so as to not raise suspicion but the gesture still manages to soothe the anger that boils in his stomach. Jughead clenches his jaw. 

“No.”

It’s a simple statement which only causes Gabriel’s smirk to deepen.

“Then I’m not talking,” he retorts. “I’m suddenly not remembering anything that happened. I guess seeing your stupid face is too distracting that I can’t think of anything else.”

Jughead considers launching himself out of the chair to pummel Gabriel’s face but freezes completely when Betty squeezes his shoulder.

“I’ll be okay, Jug,” she says quietly. Then, she looks over at the couch in front of the fireplace a few feet away, on the other side of the common room. “Can you give us a couple of minutes?”

Her voice is so sweet and tender that he finds that he can’t deny her anything, not when she asks like that. The jealous, seething monster in him rattles in its cage as he gets up and walks over to said couch as peacefully as he can.

Toni grins as she sees him approach. She closes the book she was reading and places it on the coffee table in front of her. “Why are you stomping around?”

Jughead glances back at Betty who seems to be talking avidly with Gabriel. Displeasure and suspicion flares up inside him once again. “I don’t trust that guy.”

“You don’t trust him or you don’t like him? Because those are two very different things.”

“Not to me,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch next to her. Situating himself at the perfect angle, Jughead can still watch Betty’s questioning from a safe distance. 

“Your left eye is twitching,” Toni comments before she re-opens her book, flipping through the pages nonchalantly.

Jughead brushes his eye with the back of his hand. “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh,” she says, clearly unconvinced. “I think it’s cute.”

“What’s cute?” he asks.

“How protective you are about her. If it wasn’t clear before that you cared about her, seeing this would tip it over the edge. I’m happy for you.” Toni’s smile is so genuine.

He opens his mouth, unsure of what to say. It’s not like he can tell his best friend the truth, not in public like this with Betty a few feet away from them talking to his number one enemy right now. Toni doesn’t need his reassurance though. 

Instead, she seems to sense this and launches into a conversation about her holiday break with a very thorough detailing of everything that was served at Christmas dinner.

“The brussel sprouts were so good. They were perfectly crispy,” she tells him dreamily, as if she’s still savoring them on her tongue.

“That’s what you liked the most about your meal?” he asks, his nose scrunching up in distaste. He’s always preferred the meatier parts of that holiday dinner.

Before Toni can answer, Betty walks over to them with a wide smile on her face, smug with her success. She waves around a few glass vials filled with silvery liquid before she stuffs them into her bag. 

“He gave me his memories from the last couple of months! I can’t wait to go through them. There has to be something there that gives us a lead,” she says excitedly.

Seeing his secret girlfriend being so thrilled about looking through another guy’s memories makes the monster rattle its cage once again. Jughead wants to start grumbling but Toni interrupts him.

“I’m going to head to the library. Good to see you, Jones. Don’t be a stranger.” She turns to Betty. “Take care of him.”

When Toni leaves, the duo are left in the room with a few other Gryffindors hanging around. Gabriel escaped back up to his room as soon as he had the chance. Not wanting to waste another moment to find out what Betty and Gabriel had been speaking of, Jughead gets up and heads towards the doorway. Betty follows him out as they exit Gryffindor Tower. 

When they’ve almost reached their private quarters, Betty finally speaks.

She looks thoughtful as she turns to him. “Why do your friends keep telling me to take care of you?” 

He’s surprised that this is the first thing that she wants to address. He starts to shrug it off before her eyes get wide as she stares at him incredulously. Holding the door open for her, he follows her in.

“They know, don’t they?” she asks, as soon as they’re inside.

Jughead coughs uncomfortably but manages to turn it into a weak laugh. “I don’t think I’m the best actor, if I’m being honest. Reggie and Toni know me too well and I’m sure it was pretty obvious to them that we’re together. They’re both annoyingly intuitive.”

“Huh,” Betty says before she sits on the couch, lying back against the cushions. “You know, I could totally be freaking out right now.”

“But you’re not?” he asks cautiously.

“Yeah, I mean my initial reaction was panic but I think I’m okay now. I was planning on telling Veronica the truth anyway. It seems only fair that your best friends should also know. I hate lying to Veronica and Kevin before. I’m sorry I made you keep it from Toni and Reggie for so long.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Polaris,” he says as he kisses her fingertips. “You’re being surprisingly calm about this.”

“I am, aren’t I?” she says with a grin. “I’m proud of myself.”

“I’m proud of you too.” He sits next to her and can’t hide his smile when she immediately cuddles up next to him. Arm hanging off her shoulder, he leans and kisses her hair. “So what did the most obnoxiously irritating prick at Hogwarts tell you?”

“He was sneaking back to his dormitory that night. Apparently, there had been some secret party that a few 7th Year Ravenclaw students were throwing. It was dark in the hallway so he doesn’t remember seeing anything but he thinks he was poisoned. Then everything went black for him and the next thing he knows, he’s waking up in the infirmary,” Betty recounts.

“Poisoned?” Jughead considers this quietly. “Why does he think he was poisoned?”

“He said he remembers that his lips tingled and then the sensation started to spread over his entire body before he passed out.” She intertwines her hands and bites her lip, looking unsure all of a sudden.

“What else? You aren’t telling me something.”

Betty opens and closes her mouth a few times like she’s debating how to phrase her words. “Umm and then he asked if I wanted to give him a kiss to rule out that maybe my lips might have caused it.”

Jughead’s eyes narrow before he shoots up in his seat, his glare aimed at the doorway. “I’m going to kill him.”

Betty pulls him back down insistently. “Well, I mean, his scientific method makes no sense whatsoever because what is he going to do, kiss everyone in the school to test out his hypothesis?”

“None of what you said made sense,” Jughead says in exasperation. He loosens his fists that were balled up. 

“I promise you can kick Gabriel’s ass if he turns out to be the culprit,” Betty assures placatingly. “I’m going to start looking through Gabriel’s memories but we should also get Ethel’s too. There might be something there that we missed.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. We can also talk to her and Madame Pomfrey about their potion stores. I wonder if they even realized the Mandrake Restorative Draughts got switched with the Elixir of-”

Jughead suddenly stops speaking when the epiphany hits him.

“It’s a potion.”

“What? The Elixir of Life is a potion? We already knew that.”

He shakes his head. “No, Gabriel said his lips were numb and then the feeling spread all over. So, it’s likely that his mouth was the point of origin and then the sensation moved elsewhere. We’ve already determined it’s not the basilisk. If his lips were numb, that means the annoying bastard was right. He was poisoned. It’s not a spell that’s doing this. It’s a potion.”

“But that type of dark potion doesn’t exist, one that could splinter someone’s soul? I’ve never heard of it in all my research.” 

“To our knowledge, it doesn’t exist but someone could’ve developed it. Dark magic is such an under researched and unknown field.”

“You’re saying this culprit might’ve invented this dark potion?” Betty sighs, shaking her head lightly. “This would make them one of the most powerful and proficient Potions Masters currently in existence. Being able to brew the Elixir of Life is one thing, but this? It’s beyond the skill set of a student, no matter how talented they are. This type of magic could kill someone that was untrained and stupid enough to attempt it without precaution.”

“Do you think it could be-”

“Don’t say it. Don’t even suggest it,” she says adamantly. “It’s not Professor Malfoy.”

“I don’t want to think it’s him. Goodness knows his family has been through enough baseless accusations but he’s one of the few people at Hogwarts that has the qualifications and is capable of this type of magic,” he reasons.

“Why would he steal from his own stores? If it were really him, don’t you think he would’ve covered his tracks better? I mean, he grew up with the Golden Trio suspecting him of every single crime ever committed at Hogwarts. He would never make such an amateur mistake.”

“You’re right.” Jughead’s expression turns grim and he stares into the fire. “This is so frustrating. It feels like we’re progressing with this investigation but we still don’t have anything substantial.”

Betty grabs his hand and starts to smooth her thumb over his skin. “I know. But we’re getting somewhere with this. I know we are.”

He doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, he kisses her forehead and pulls her body tighter against his chest.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Whatever this is, it feels like an intervention.

Jughead’s hands encircle his broom as he climbs high and higher in the air. He reaches one of the goalposts on the Quidditch pitch and whips around to face Toni and Reggie who are hovering next to him on their own brooms. High winds whirl furiously every which way.

“Just spit it out,” he tells his two best friends after several minutes of them shooting darting gazes back and forth at one another.

Jughead keeps his expression neutral, secretly enjoying the way that Reggie squirms on his broom as he looks to Toni who gestures at him for him to speak first. Clearly, they rehearsed this. And apparently not very well.

“Uhh, so you know we’re not trying to corner you or anything,” Reggie starts out. “But we were just wondering if you had anything to share with us.”

Toni rolls her eyes. She centers her stare directly on Jughead. “Are you dating Betty Cooper or not? Just be honest with us.”

Jughead snorts out loud. “You two are terrible at this, for future reference.”

Reggie scoffs in fake outrage before he whines. “Is that a yes or a no because that was a very vague response.”

“It was a non-answer,” Toni answers for him. Her pink hair shimmers under the sunlight as she flies closer, circling Jughead. “We’ll only hate you a little bit for keeping this from us if our hunch is correct.”

“I never said anything about hating him,” Reggie interjects. 

The two start to argue over their stance. Meanwhile, Jughead just watches them with unhidden amusement. He whistles loudly which catches their attention.

“Yes,” Jughead says simply.

Toni grins while Reggie claps his hands together and whoops. 

“Fucking knew it.”

“Called it.” Toni looks at Jughead seriously. “You’re terrible at hiding your feelings for her, by the way. Seeing you two interact for a few seconds was all it took.”

“I think I kind of gave up on trying to hide it. I love her too much to pretend it’s not real for me,” Jughead admits.

“Our boy is in love!” Reggie clasps his hands to his chest. 

“Tell us everything, right now,” Toni demands vehemently. Reggie nods his head eagerly in agreeance.

“I didn’t realize you two loved gossip so much.”

“Stop trying to distract us, Jones. Your tricks don’t work on us anymore,” she retorts with a raised eyebrow. “Now on with it.”

The biggest and dumbest smile spreads over Jughead’s face. It feels amazing to be able to share this, finally. It was always real for him, long before this moment. But he always hated hiding it, especially from his closest friends, like his and Betty’s love was some dirty secret.

Now he can be honest and truthful; at least, to a few select people.

It means more than he could ever possibly convey.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Jughead crosses his arms and leans back against the infirmary wall while he observes Betty, Madame Pomfrey, Headmistress McGonagall and Ethel shuffle to and fro as they rush to identify the healing potions in the stores. As he and Betty had suspected, all the Mandrake Restorative Draughts that Ethel had tirelessly brewed had been replaced with the Elixir of Life. 

All it took were a few flicks of her wrist and Headmistress McGonagall was able to sort out what was what. Mentally, he filed away that spell for future use. Now, the four are moving around the vials, relabeling them as necessary. 

He simply watches them knowing that he would cause more trouble if he were to help. They seem content to figure this out without his assistance.

Madame Pomfrey and Ethel had both been taken aback and perplexed. Their expressions of surprise and disbelief were genuine. Headmistress McGonagall, meanwhile, was completely stoic while Poppy broke the news. She must’ve already suspected something to begin with. 

He still stands by his statement that they shouldn’t trust anyone at Hogwarts but it felt irresponsible to not inform the right people. Students’ lives are at stake and that’s never worth the risk. 

Jughead stands up straighter when he sees Ethel coming towards him. She’s wearing a nurse uniform, similar to Madame Pomfrey’s, her red curls bouncing, not a single hair out of place. She sits down at the empty bed next to him looking completely guilt stricken. Her eyes water as she looks at him.

“I feel so guilty. I was the one that prepared those vials. I should’ve noticed something,” she says, her voice cracking.

“You didn’t know. None of us did. The potions are practically indistinguishable from one another and we had no reason to suspect otherwise,” he consoles.

Ethel nods numbly, holding her hands together in her lap.

“Ethel, would you be okay if I took some of your memories from the last few months? It feels like we’re missing something and I’m hoping something in your thoughts will hold the answer.”

Her eyes widen with surprise. Jughead thinks he sees a flicker of uncertainty before it fades almost immediately. He gets it. It’s almost like an invasion of privacy to have your thoughts and memories scanned by someone else. But, this is necessary if they want to find out who’s doing this.

Ethel nods. “Of course, I’ll do anything I can to help.” She reaches forward and puts her hand on top of his. Her warmth almost overwhelms him and he can’t help but startle a bit at her sudden touch. “You are so brave and wonderful to be investigating this. I know you’ll solve this soon.”

Unwittingly, he glances over at Betty who is hunched over Madame Pomfrey’s desk, looking at something with the Headmistress intently. A smile tugs at his lips. Pulling his hands away, he gives Ethel a reassuring look.

“I only want to help,” he replies to her comment.

Ethel opens her mouth to speak but some rustling from the entrance of the infirmary pulls their attention away. 

It’s Trula.

Her hands are gripping her throat as she strains to speak. She takes one step in, her movements jilted and convulsive. Then her face drains of color and she appears white as a sheet. She starts to collapse, falling towards the floor but then stops a few inches away, her body frozen above the floor.

“ _Locomotor_."

Headmistress McGonagall has her arm and wand outstretched. Thankfully, she reacted in time. With another flick, Trula’s paralyzed body rests on top of an empty bed. 

Betty jumps to action, recovering quickly as she follows Madame Pomfrey’s hurried instructions. Ethel dashes over to help them.

And as for Jughead, he simply stares with bleak intensity at Trula’s pale face, every feature of hers completely devoid of light or life. 

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000


	18. Imperio - Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is long but for a reason! It’s time to collect all the clues you’ve gathered, friends. Y’all ready? Put on this song and LFG!!! 
> 
> Of course, I need to thank Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for being the best beta ever. Your support means everything!
> 
> And another huge thank you to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) who gets me SO HYPE with these gorgeous headers. In love!!

_Something in here's not right today. Why am I so uptight today?_  
_Paranoia's all I got left_  
_I don't know what stressed me first or how the pressure was fed_  
_But I know just what it feels like to have a voice in the back of my head_  
_Like a face that I hold inside_  
_A face that awakes when I close my eyes_  
_A face watches every time I lie_  
_A face that laughs every time I fall and watches everything_  
_So I know that when it's time to sink or swim_  
_That the face inside is here in me right underneath my skin_  
_It's like I'm paranoid lookin' over my back_  
_It's like a whirlwind inside of my head_  
_It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within_  
_It's like the face inside is right beneath my skin_  
  
_“Papercut” by Linkin Park_

**_Eighteen: Imperio - Control_ **

Betty is exhausted by the time that she and Jughead trudge back to their private quarters from the infirmary. It’s the type of tiredness that’s almost crippling; the kind that seeps deep into your whole body so that every breath and movement causes your bones and muscles to scream out in agony.

She takes the last step up the stairs and arrives at their private landing, wincing as she does it. As always, Jughead seems to notice this. They enter through the door and as soon as it shuts, closing them off from the world, he picks her up, swinging her into his arms. 

She doesn’t protest. Instead, she lets out a tired smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling her face into his skin. Breathing him in always manages to comfort her. His closeness and his very being soothes her heart like a balm. He always smells so delicious, even after a long day. 

Betty doesn’t even realize she’s murmuring this thought to him aloud until she feels the deep rumbling in his chest as he laughs. It’s a smooth sound, one that cradles her protectively, filling her with warmth. He kisses her gently on the side of her head.

She remembers going up the stairs to his room. One step and then two. And by the third, everything gets hazy.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Betty wakes up to the most delicious sensation.

Blinking her eyes open, she sees Jughead kneeling on the bed placing soft, wet kisses to the inside of her calf. They don’t speak; she doesn’t ask what he’s doing. She can see the desire in his darkened eyes and feels it in the powerful grip he has on her leg; it speaks volumes. They’ve seemed to move past language in their communication.

She drops her head back down to the mattress and spreads her legs further. A strangled groan escapes him when he sees her invitation. But he’s still in control. He takes his time moving up her leg, circling his tongue around the ball of her knee, tracing a long, wet line down to her inner thigh. Then he slips her panties off. Anticipation hangs heavy in the air around her and she soaks it in, both loving and hating his teasing at the same time. 

His rough hands push her legs even further apart. She’s so exposed like this. He hovers his mouth at her center, blowing on her clit. The cool air tickles her sensitive skin. She squirms in his hold and opens her mouth to beg when he lowers his mouth and thrusts his tongue into her.

Screaming out in pleasure, she throws her hands against the already rumpled sheets, pulling at them as he spears his tongue into her. Tracing a finger along her folds, he slides it into her heat, a rumble escaping his lips when he feels how wet she is. She whimpers at the contact, lifting her hips up to get closer, needing more of it, more of him. He lowers his mouth to her pussy and sucks her clit into his mouth. 

God, what a wonderful mouth that it is. 

In this moment, she wants to write sonnets about his sinfully exquisite tongue and how he moves it so expertly against her. He flicks her clit with the end of his tongue. She feels her pulse stammering against her chest as the sensations build within her body. He continues to work her relentlessly. She balls her fists around the sheets, wrenching them upwards as the pressure becomes overwhelming. A piercing cry tumbles from her lips as she comes, her body screaming with pleasure as electricity shoots throughout her.

Betty lies against the bed, desperately trying to catch her breath as she watches Jughead through hooded eyes. He has the most self-satisfied smirk on his face, his ego probably bursting at the seams from the mind-blowing orgasm he just gave her.

“Good morning,” she rasps out, her throat scratchy.

“ _Good_ morning indeed,” he emphasizes.

She’s about to roll over to get off the bed to start the day when he pulls her towards him, grabbing her by the foot. Squealing in surprise, she bursts into a fit of giggles as he tickles her sides, whispering roughly into her ear.

“Oh, we’re nowhere near done here, Polaris.”

Biting her lip, she cups his face with her palms and thrusts the lower part of her body into him. A ragged groan tears from his chest. Hooking her legs around him, she flips them over in one smooth movement. Straddling him, she sits up and beams at him. He grins back before he balls up her nightgown, helping her remove it before she throws it to the side. 

He shimmies out of his pajama bottoms, murmuring the necessary contraception spells. His hard cock pops up as soon as it's released from its clothing confines. It slaps against his toned abdomen. Betty wraps her hand around him, loving the way he pulses with desire in her grasp. Positioning him quickly, she impales herself onto him at the same time that he thrusts up.

He fills her completely, stretching and filling her deeply, bottoming out. He jerks his hips into her as she rides him. They meet one another, thrust for thrust. He sits up all of a sudden, pushing even further into her and a strangled moan pours from her. She threads her hands through his hair, gripping him tightly against her as they move together. 

Jughead pulls back, his mouth coming down to her pretty, bouncing tits. He sucks her nipple into his mouth, laving his tongue over the aroused bead. Picking up the pace, he drives into her hard. The room is filled with sounds of skin slapping against skin, moans and groans.

He licks the side of her neck down to her collar bone and then to the curve of her shoulder.

“You taste so sweet,” he growls out.

She whimpers in response, feeling as if she’s drowning in him. In them. It’s everything. 

Her orgasm rushes over her, pulling her under into its depths. He thrusts harder and harder into her a few more times before he roars his release, joining her. 

Their bodies slump against one another as he traces his hands up and down her back, soothing her. Her forehead is damp from exertion but she leans against his chest anyway. Beads of sweat drip from her body onto his, mixing with his. They both breathe heavily.

“Please wake me up like that anytime,” she finally says after a few moments of contented silence.

The laugh that bursts from him is so pure and joyous. It’s so beautiful and mentally, she promises that she’ll try to make him laugh like that at least once a day from now on.

He kisses her softly. “I love you, Polaris.”

“I love you, Jug.”

He murmurs a cleaning spell before he pulls her body even closer to his. She’s practically lying on top of him, her head resting on his chest as she listens to the soothing sound of his steady heartbeat, her legs completely entangled in his.

“Are you going to be okay today? I hate leaving you alone while there’s an insane criminal running around Hogwarts. This is probably terrible timing to be going off to London to meet with the Astronomical Society.”

“Don’t worry. I promise you I’m quite capable,” she teases lightheartedly, smoothing her fingers along his tanned skin.

“Oh trust me, I’m well aware. But it doesn’t mean I’m not still worried. I don’t want to leave you,” he admits with a sigh.

“It’s only a few hours,” she reassures. “Plus this is important. I won’t let you give up this opportunity to pursue something you’re actually interested in.”

“There’s something about today that seems off,” he murmurs, voicing his concern before he places a kiss to her neck. “I can’t explain it but I still feel it.”

She leans into his touch, craning her neck to allow him more access. She giggles when he flips their bodies around so he’s hovering over her. 

“Well, I’m sure I can think of something that might fix it,” she tells him, grinning widely. 

Then she kisses him so thoroughly. All other thoughts and worries dissipate around them. Their focus is solely on one another and a part of her wonders, will it always be like this?

She hopes so.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

As soon as Betty enters Madame Puddifoot’s, she’s blasted in the face with the color pink and the smell of sickly sweet candy and other saccharine treats. Decorated with frills, lace, and bows, the entire space is crammed with tables and chairs, filled with students galore.

This is her nightmare. She hates it here. 

Betty understands that it’s a favored spot for many students especially for first dates or major romantic holidays but she’s never gotten the appeal. However, Veronica loves this place and has always referred to it as adorably quirky. Apparently, the gaudiness and tackiness doesn’t turn her off. Her best friend insists that the pistachio macarons served here are the best she’s had outside of Paris.

A part of her wishes she never had to leave the comfort and privacy of her room. She was making excellent progress in reviewing Ethel and Gabriel’s memories but she knows she can’t put this off any longer. 

She needs to tell Veronica the truth.

And so, that’s why she’s here on her free afternoon in Hogsmeade, on a “lady date”, as Veronica likes to call them. Betty winds through the crowd and peels back a fuzzy pink curtain adorned with balls of more pink and fluff. Veronica squeals happily when she spots her.

“Bettykins! I’ve missed you!”

Betty hugs her friend tightly, breathing in the comforting scent of her expensive perfume. Whenever they come to Madame Puddifoot’s, however unwilling Betty might be, she always appreciates the private table that’s reserved for Veronica in the back, away from the hustle and bustle. It’s been like this since first-year, when Veronica first dragged her and Kevin here. 

Betty never thought that it was unusual that Veronica would get a private table here -- it’s always been this way. The special treatment that her friend gets might’ve been a little odd and uncommon at first. But they were 12 when they met as first-years. They’ve been friends for so long that now, Betty just accepts it as what happens when she hangs out with Veronica. Betty’s never really thought of the weight of the Lodge name and the status. She never considered that it comes with an enormous amount of privilege and entitlement.

To her, Veronica has always been just Veronica. Her best friend. Not an heiress. Not a member of the Pureblood elite.

Yet, with Jughead, his name and status were one of the first things she considered when they started their journey.

There’s less of an impact on her life with Veronica. As a friend and only on the periphery of the super wealthy Pureblood experience, it’s nice to indulge in it once in a while as a rare treat. It’s not constant. Not like it would be with Jughead. With him, it’d be perpetual and never ending.

While it’s still intimidating to consider, she finds that she’s not as bothered by it as she was before. Kevin’s right and she holds his words close to her chest. She can’t let herself be affected by the inevitable scrutiny and derision. She can’t let her life or relationship be overwhelmed with negativity and fear.

She won’t let anything destroy them, what she has with Jughead. She refuses to.

Veronica’s voice draws her out of her thoughts. “Are you okay?” she asks, leaning back, her stunning brown eyes soft with worry.

“I’m okay, V. I missed you so much,” Betty replies, emotion building up within her chest. 

The guilt of hiding such a large part of her life from one of the closest people in her life is staggering. Almost blindly, she wanted to protect herself and the love that she has with Jughead. But Veronica is her best friend. She’s been by her side for so long now that Betty can’t imagine life without their friendship.

It would wreck her. Like losing Jughead would.

She trusts Veronica with her whole heart. That has never changed. She should’ve told her a long, long time ago and certainly not because she was forced to. It was a disservice to the strength of their friendship.

Betty grasps Veronica’s hand in her own as they sit down, squeezing it tightly.

“So how were your holidays? Daddy took us to Bora Bora and-”

“I’m dating Jughead Jones.”

Veronica freezes for a moment, her mouth dropping open and gaping. Betty looks at her with concern. One thing that Veronica Lodge will never be is uncomposed. As sudden as the expression of surprise flits across Veronica’s face, it disappears. Reaching over the table, she hugs Betty tightly, throwing their bodies together.

“First of all, I knew it. I was just surprised that you actually told me so suddenly. I was expecting you to keep this yourself for at least another few weeks. Second of all, I’m so happy for you, B. And lastly, please never keep something like this from me again.”

Betty exhales deeply, her brain and heart whizzing as she takes in all of Veronica’s words. “I promise, I won’t. I shouldn’t have kept this from you and I’m so sorry I did. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s more like I let,” she pauses for a moment, rethinking how she wants to phrase this. 

“I let it all get to my head,” Betty finally admits. “And I shouldn’t have.”

Veronica shakes her head and opens her mouth to speak but they’re interrupted by their waitress who holds a 3-tier cake stand that’s filled with finger sandwiches, scones, macarons, cakes, and other delightful treats. Pots of tea float around her. She sets down the stand at the table before grabbing the pots and cups from the air and putting their selected teas in front of them.

“Enjoy ladies!” 

Betty and Veronica both exchange pleasantries with the waitress before Veronica turns back towards Betty, her usual calm facade dropping.

“Tell me everything!”

Betty takes a sip of her tea and nibbles on the edge of a strawberry danish. Meanwhile, Veronica stares at her expectantly.

She smiles at her friend before she launches into the story, a similar version to what she gave Kevin a few weeks before. It’s almost practiced at this point which is probably a good thing since Betty’s sure she’s going to have this exact same conversation over and over again. When she’s finally done regaling how their relationship progressed over the last academic semester, Veronica is practically bouncing in her seat, unable to contain her happiness and excitement.

“Oh, that’s so romantic, B! A true Hogwarts love story,” Veronica coos, clutching her heart. “It goes without saying that I wholeheartedly approve of him. I know he’ll take care of you. He’s been making heart eyes at you for ages now.”

Betty leans in and whispers, “he told me that he’s liked me for years.”

Veronica simply shrugs. “That sounds about right. Why are you whispering about it?”

She fiddles with her napkin for a moment. “I kind of feel guilty that I never noticed it before.”

“Don’t be. Honestly, even if you did, I think the timing worked out perfectly the way it has. You wouldn’t have been ready for a relationship with him before this year anyway. I mean, you basically did reject him when you jumped off the broom which by the way, I’m still impressed about. You need to share your trick.”

“It’s _Arresto Momentum_ and you need to point at the body part that’ll touch the ground first. Pretty simple to master,” Betty tells her absent-mindedly, her focus still on what Veronica just impressed upon her.

“Simple?” Veronica says with doubt. “Sure, maybe for you. Some of us are still trying to perfect their Patronus Charm, Miss I-figured-out-how-to-do-this-before-anyone-else.”

“Actually, Jughead cast a fully corporeal Patronus a week before I did.”

This statement only serves to make Veronica roll her eyes. “That further proves my point that you’re disgustingly perfect for one another.”

Betty looks down at her lap and blushes, trying her best to hide it. 

“I’m so happy for you,” Veronica tells her earnestly. She leans in a little closer, her expression devious. “Now, what are the odds that you and Jughead can hook me up with one of his hot Quidditch player friends?”

A laugh escapes Betty’s mouth. “You and Kevin are hopeless. He asked me the same thing except he was only interested in Fangs Fogarty.”

The friends giggle over this before Veronica sits up straight in her chair. “Wait a second, did you tell him before me?”

“I might have,” Betty says guiltily. “To be fair, he kind of found out on his own and I had to explain to him.”

Veronica scoffs in disbelief. “I cannot believe you two-”

“You can’t be too mad. I mean, you were the one trying to scheme and plot to get me to ask out Reggie Mantle to prove that I had feelings for Jughead,” Betty interrupts her.

Veronica scowls. “You know about that?”

Betty nods.

“Okay, shall we call a truce then? I will stop my manipulations and you will stop keeping life-changing secrets from your best friend.”

Veronica reaches across the table and holds her hand out. Betty grabs it and shakes, giving her a wide grin.

Internally, she lets out a grateful sigh that the conversation went well. She takes a large sip of her tea.

“So how big is Jughead’s Quidditch stick?” Veronica asks curiously and innocently.

Then, she promptly spits her tea right back out.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

After stuffing themselves with gratuitous amounts of treats, the friends walk back towards the castle. She’s so full that she can barely walk but apparition isn’t possible within the bounds of Hogwarts grounds so alas, they resort to trudging back, slowly but surely. Veronica leaves Betty for the Slytherin dungeons with a promise to kidnap Kevin tomorrow so they can all gossip over butterbeers and pumpkin pasties. Betty winds her way back to her private quarters, flopping onto her bed when she finally gets to her room.

She feels so much lighter after sharing with Veronica, the stress and unrest from the last few months slipping off her shoulders. Voltaire hops onto the bed and starts to purr, headbutting his face into her cheek. 

Betty giggles and hugs him tightly to her body. He meows in complaint at the over-affection, squirming out of her arms. He circles a spot a safe distance away from her but still on the bed. Then he plops down and rests his head on his intertwined paws, taking his usual afternoon nap.

As much as Betty wants to join him and rest, she knows she needs to finish going through Ethel and Gabriel’s memories. With a sigh, she jumps off the bed and stretches, making her way to the pensieve.

She pours the third vial that she collected from Gabriel into the water. Then she starts to sift through them. Most of the memories are fairly commonplace but others make her want to march down to Gryffindor Tower and strangle Gabriel.

He’s such an ass. This is not surprising though.

By the time she finishes sorting through the fifth vial of memories, she’s exhausted. Looking out the window, the sun has moved from the middle of the sky to deep in the west, signaling that it’s mid-afternoon. Grabbing a chocolate bar from her secret stash in her desk drawer, she munches on it as she pours the sixth vial into the pensieve.

It’s all normal, mundane everyday happenings that hold no interest for her. She finishes the chocolate bar and drops the wrapper into the rubbish bin, her wrist still flicking past the memories. When she rights herself back up in her seat, she stops.

It’s Gabriel’s memory from the dance. He’s hooting and hollering with his friends, passing by a group of Ravenclaws, before the Gryffindors make their way into the Great Hall.

Betty rewinds the memory and replays it again. Inherently, something about this scene bothers her.

The Gabriel in the memory walks backwards out of the Great Hall and starts at the beginning. He and a few of his friends rowdily make their way towards the dance, passing by a group of Ravenclaws. Gabriel turns around and makes a lewd comment and gesture at the Ravenclaw girls before he follows his friends into the Great Hall.

She pauses the memory and rewinds it again. This time when the memory starts to play, she stops it right when the group of Ravenclaws come into Gabriel’s view. Zooming in, she notices Trula first and to her right is Ethel.

Dressed in a red and gold gown, Ethel bounces excitedly, a wistful smile on her face. She’s wearing a golden shawl around her shoulders.

Betty sits back in her chair, frowning. Something about this seems off. At times like these, she wishes she had a photographic memory like Jughead but alas, she needs to rely on her pensieve. She sorts through her collection of glass vials filled with her own memories and picks out the one where she and Jughead interviewed Ethel when she was still in the infirmary after she was attacked. 

Dropping it into the water, she plunges her face in, reliving it once again.

_“I had gotten ready for the ball with Trula and some of the other Ravenclaw girls. We were all so excited for the dance. I hadn’t gotten a chance to get dressed up like that in so long and it all seemed so romantic. Like maybe that night would be the night that I would meet my Prince Charming, like that muggle fairytale,” Ethel recounts wistfully, her eyes never straying from Jughead’s face as she speaks._

_It’s very clear who she’s referring to when she says Prince Charming. Betty’s surprised that Ethel has even heard of the Cinderella story but it’s likely that it was something that came up during Muggle Studies. She snaps herself out of her thinking when Ethel continues._

_“We walked to the Great Hall as a group but about a quarter of the way there, I realized I forgot my shawl and I didn’t want to get cold so I went back to grab it. At that point, the ball was in full swing and I was one of the few stragglers. I brought my camera with me and was just about to take a picture of the decorations at the entrance to the Great Hall when everything went black. I don’t remember anything else after that.”_

_“What happened to the camera?” Betty asks._

There are so many inconsistencies here. First, Ethel says that she left the group a quarter of the way there but in Gabriel’s memory, she’s still very clearly about to enter the Great Hall with them. Second, Ethel said that she forgot her shawl. In the memory, however, she’s wearing it. 

Something’s wrong. Why would she lie about this? It seems so innocuous.

Betty gasps for air as she lifts her head out of the pensieve. She murmurs a quick drying spell. Then she searches through the last remaining vials of Ethel’s memories that she hasn’t had a chance to go through yet. She pours one in and sifts through the memories.

It’s not what she’s looking for.

She repeats the process again. Then she finally finds it. The memory of Ethel walking to the dance. In this memory, Ethel walks with the group of Ravenclaw girls until she stops suddenly. Trula turns around, worried. Ethel explains to her that she forgot her shawl and that she would catch up with them. Trula nods robotically. In the next frame, Ethel is leaving Ravenclaw Tower with the golden shawl wrapped firmly around her shoulders.

It’s fake. This memory has been tampered with. Betty wouldn’t have noticed it unless she was looking for it. The memory recreation is impeccably done; the flaw is almost imperceptible.

Why would Ethel feel the need to tamper this memory? It’s an unoffending interaction between her and Trula. Why would Ethel lie about this to them when they interviewed her?

Betty bites her lip. She needs to tell Jughead about this. The sinking, unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach grows further and further. Scrambling out of her chair, she whips her wand out in front of her. 

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

A cat emerges out of the blue mist, bending its head down in deference, awaiting its instruction.

“Find Jughead. He’s in London at the Astronomical Society. Tell him that he needs to get back to Hogwarts immediately. I found something big and I need him back here now,” Betty commands, her words rushed and frenzied.

The cat twitches its left ear in understanding. Then it flits off and disappears.

She nibbles on the pad of her thumb as she thinks. Ethel is definitely hiding something, there’s no doubt about that but could she really be the culprit? That doesn’t make any sense. Ethel is a talented witch, of course. 

But she can’t possibly be powerful enough to invent the type of Dark spell that could splinter someone’s soul, could she? 

_“This would make them one of the most powerful and proficient Potions Masters currently in existence. Being able to brew the Elixir of Life is one thing, but this? It’s beyond the skill set of a student, no matter how talented they are. This type of magic could kill someone that was untrained and stupid enough to attempt it without precaution.”_

Her green eyes widen as she realizes it: one of the most powerful and proficient Potions Masters currently in existence. She practically leaps at her bookshelf, pulling out the large tome of notable Hogwarts alumni, flipping through it frantically.

M. Muggs.

Tracing her index finger down page 137, she finds what she’s looking for.

_Manfred Muggs. Ravenclaw. Order of Merlin, First Class. Head of Potions Development at the British Ministry of Magic. Specializes in combat potions and the advancement of alchemical magic._

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

It’s them. It has to be them. Manfred, Ethel’s father, developed the potion but Ethel implemented them. That has to be it.

Betty leaps out of her chair and starts to move towards the door before she forcibly stops herself. She should wait. She knows she needs to wait for Jughead to return her message and get back to Hogwarts. She absolutely should not go in search of Ethel by herself.

That would be reckless. And, so incredibly stupid.

Her gaze darts at the clock on her desk. It’s been over thirty minutes since she’s sent the message to Jughead but he still hasn’t acknowledged it. Nor has he returned. She needs to keep waiting. She can’t go after Ethel by herself.

But after almost an hour of silence and pacing back and forth in her room, she knows she can’t wait any longer. What if another student is attacked? What if someone else gets hurt? What’s the right thing to do here? Should she stay and wait? Or should she go and try to get more information out of Ethel?

She sits down on her desk chair and taps her foot against the floor repeatedly. Then she bolts up.

No, it’s been an hour. Jughead still hasn’t gotten back to her and while a part of her wants to worry about why that is, she needs to focus on what’s more important right now -- catching the culprit.

She can’t waste another moment.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Ethel’s nowhere to be found.

Betty has checked Ravenclaw Tower, the library, the Great Hall, and the Room of Requirement. She’s whizzed around the castle, walking faster than she ever has before. She decides to go back towards Ravenclaw Tower. At some point, Ethel needs to return back to her dormitory and maybe by that time, Jughead will finally be back at Hogwarts. She still has no idea why he hasn’t responded.

Due to his lack of communication, she decides to put a Trace on her wand, tying it back to his magical signature. This means that he’d be able to detect anytime her wand performed magic and provide her real-time location anytime she’s holding it. It’s very similar to the Trace that the Ministry puts on underage wizards and witches to detect whenever they’re improperly performing magic.

Where could Ethel be? Betty wracks her mind for possibilities when it hits her.

_“Oh and the first-year boys bathroom near Ravenclaw Tower is having plumbing issues. So please pass along the message to the prefects that it’s out of order once more.”_

Ethel couldn’t be careless enough to be brewing the potions in the castle, could she? Stealing the ingredients from Professor Malfoy’s stores is bad enough but this is on a whole new level. With renewed effort, Betty ducks down the hallway to the first-year boys bathroom. She’s unsurprised to see Helena Ravenclaw also known as the Grey Lady glide right past her. The ghost’s presence is one of the main reasons students avoid this area.

Could Ethel be hiding in plain sight? There’s something stupidly brilliant about it.

With extra care, Betty tiptoes towards the entrance. She holds her hand out, murmuring a few incantations to disable the wards. As soon as she sees them drop, the clear protection fading away, she steps into the bathroom and casts a light. Almost immediately, the stench overwhelms her. Her senses continue to be assaulted as she feels a sort of heaviness weighing down on her shoulders.

It’s the presence of dark magic.

“Welcome Betty.”

Betty doesn’t startle at the greeting. Instead, she walks further into the bathroom and sees it all laid out in front of her. Ethel is sitting at a cauldron that is currently bubbling with something rancid and acrid. She’s never imagined what poison might smell like but this is most definitely it.

“I’ve been expecting you,” Ethel says lightly as she stirs. She cocks her head to the side, her perfectly curled red hair bouncing from the movement. “In all honesty, I was hoping you’d figure this out a little sooner. What do the muggles say? Better late than never?”

Betty doesn’t respond or utter a single word. Instead, she schools her face into a neutral expression as she steps closer. Her wand is in a deathly tight grip in her hand.

“Since we’re amongst friends, I suppose you won’t mind if I relax a bit,” Ethel says with a wink. “It gets so tiring maintaining a glamor spell all day.” 

As soon as she says this, the air around Ethel starts to undulate and the shimmer fades. With a smile, she tucks a few strands of her hair behind her ears. Betty notices that Ethel now has several distinctive streaks of light grey in her hair, reminding her of Narcissa Malfoy’s hairstyle. The grey contrasts sharply with the rest of her vivid red locks.

“You hid the effects of what the dark magic is doing to you,” Betty says flatly.

Ethel nods and then shrugs. “I suppose it’s a small price to pay for what I want. It won’t be long now.”

“And what is it you want?” Betty hedges.

“Of course, you still don’t know,” Ethel replies acerbically. “You’ve taken everything from me and you don’t even know or care that you were so close to ruining my life.”

Smartly, Betty remains silent, not wanting to say anything else that might send Ethel over the edge. She’s very clearly only hanging on by a single, frayed thread.

“This was going to be our year, you know. I knew it was only a matter of time before he opened his eyes and realized what was standing in front of him all along. I did all of this for him, so he’d realize that he loved me. I drank a poisonous, soul splintering spell for him. Do you know how painful that was? But I needed to create a mystery that was just for us, for him and I. I knew he would want to investigate it and if we could spend more time together and solve it, he’d see,” Ethel starts to say, almost in a rambling manner, like she’s speaking more to herself than to Betty.

“Jughead,” Betty whispers.

“Don’t you say his name!” Ethel screeches, pointing her wand up at Betty. “You don’t deserve to say his name, you filthy half-blood. You’re unworthy of him.”

Betty takes a step back and starts to apologize but Ethel doesn’t seem to hear the platitudes.

“It should never have been you. It should’ve been me. I’m just as smart as you but he never noticed me. I have the right blood. Mine is pure. Yours is filthy and contaminated. You’re disgusting and you don’t deserve him,” she asserts, the madness creeping into her tone more and more.

“You’re right. I would say that you’re even smarter than me,” Betty says, trying to deflect. “I mean, you’ve managed to brew the Elixir of Life and invented a Dark potion. I could never do that.”

Ethel snorts in an unladylike way. “You wouldn’t even come close. But I can’t take credit for what my father did. He was the one that created his own Sorcerer's Stone, the first to do it in ages. He was also the one that invented the Dark potion. But I was the one that brewed the Elixir of Life. I was the one that brewed my own version of his Dark potion. I was missing something,” she mutters, mostly to herself again. “It wasn’t perfect like his was.”

“The one that you brewed was the one that you gave to Trula, wasn’t it?” Betty asks, remembering the stilted way that Trula had stumbled into the infirmary. She had still managed to walk and move. It seemed like what was administered to Trula was a less potent version of the same Dark potion.

“Yes. I managed to steal two vials from my father’s lab but I couldn’t take any more. He would’ve noticed. Not that he notices much,” she says derisively, eyes darting down to the floor in contempt. “But I had a copy of his notes and his instructions. It should’ve been perfect. I did everything that it said I should.”

Ethel looks at the bubbling cauldron in front of her. “I know I did it right this time. This batch will be perfect.”

“Why Gabriel and Trula? What have they done to you? Trula is your friend.”

“Trula was my competition,” Ethel corrects. “I thought you were a Slytherin. Don’t you know that befriending your enemies and gaining their trust is the best way to ruin them. As for Gabriel? I didn’t like the way he spoke to Jughead at the Gryffindor party after they rightfully beat our Quidditch team. He deserved it.”

“You splintered his soul.” Betty can’t help the horrified tone that slips out. She immediately wishes she could retract what she just said.

A slow smile creeps onto Ethel’s face. “But then I healed him almost immediately. That tiny bit of pain he experienced for a short while? He deserved that. Nobody’s been harmed that much. I would never kill someone. I’m not crazy.”

Betty clamps her mouth shut so that her response wouldn’t escape. Ethel is the culprit. She’s vindictive, psychotic, and utterly obsessed with Jughead. She’s like the worst type of manifestation of everything Betty’s feared all along.

“Do you want to see how I did it?” Ethel asks with a bright, inviting smile.

“Wha-” Betty starts to say but she stops herself yet again. She should say no, find a way to exit this bathroom safely, and find Jughead and the Headmistress. That would be the smart thing to do.

But she wants to say yes. The knowledge that Ethel’s dangling in front of her right now is irresistible. She’s so curious. They’ve been investigating this mystery for months now and Ethel is laying out the opportunity to discover all the answers. How can she deny that?

She should though. She should say no. But instead, she finds herself saying yes. 

_“Legilimens.”_

Instead of penetrating Betty’s mind, she sees into Ethel’s brain, following her down the rabbit hole. Everything appears to her in flashes from Ethel’s point of view.

_A young Jughead, maybe in first or second year, smiling at Ethel for the first time. Her mother’s voice: “Oh yes, the Jones boy. He’s to inherit the manor and the title of Duke. He’s of the highest caliber. You would be lucky to catch his eye.” Admiring Jughead playing Quidditch from the sidelines._

_Watching Jughead steal glances at Betty in Defense Against the Dark Arts in Fourth Year. Seeing the way Jughead traces the outline of Betty’s robes as they walk to their next class together in Fifth Year. Not getting selected as Head Girl._

_Reading Hogwarts: A History. Chapter 14: The Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts. Her father at the dinner table: “I’ve made a fantastic discovery at work today. We must celebrate. Parsons, bring the finest bottle of champagne. Now!” Ethel sneaking into her father’s private laboratory in the basement of the North wing and stealing his notes, the vials of the Dark potion, and the Sorcerer's Stone. Leaving a transfigured rock in its place._

_Knowing her father would notice if she stole too much from his stores, she steals the ingredients from Professor Malfoy’s classroom. Sneaking in, dismantling his wards. Brewing the Elixir of Life in the first floor boys bathroom near Ravenclaw Tower. Trula’s voice: “No one ever goes there because the Grey Lady haunts it. She’s so creepy.”_

_Staring at the camera in her hands, she’s dressed in a red and yellow gown. “Reducto!” Drinking the dark potion, feeling the poison numb and paralyze her body. The first thing she sees when she opens her eyes is the cauldron cake Jughead gifted her. It proves his affections for her and only her. Betty is a distraction._

_Jughead staying with her at the infirmary. His deep baritone saying: “You should take care of yourself first. I will find out who did this to you, Ethel. I promise.” Her hands on top of Jughead’s, carefully cradling his. Him saying softly: “I only want to help.”_

Jughead’s voice still echoes in Betty’s thoughts as she’s suddenly pulled from Ethel’s mind. The tugging sensation makes her want to throw up and her brain pounds from the impact. Gripping her wand tightly, she tries to prepare herself in her briefly weakened state.

“You are unworthy. You tried to steal him from me. And now, you’ll pay for it.” Ethel’s chilling voice sends shivers down Betty’s spine.

Her senses tingle on overdrive and she throws up a shield the same time that Ethel attacks her.

_“Imperio!”_

_“Protego!”_

Betty can feel the hypnotic draw of dark magic pulsing against her shield, inviting her to let go and give in.

_Give in. Surrender. You want this._

She can’t. She won’t. Gritting her teeth, she pushes every bit of energy she has left into the shield but she can see it wavering. Ethel’s dark magic is unbelievably strong and horrifying. The girl must be killing a part of herself, casting it like this. Betty sees more of Ethel’s hair turning gray in front of her eyes as the magic takes as much as it gives.

Ethel’s so powerful. And shielding herself from dark magic has always been Betty’s weakness. She fainted seconds after the last and only time she’s cast an Unforgivable. Her green eyes take in the way her shield starts to tremble and decay. She knows she only has a few seconds left.

The barrier crashes around her.

_“Imperio!”_

And suddenly, all the pain and fear she was feeling before disappears. It’s like she’s floating on a cloud, wrapped in a comforting blanket. Everything is so perfect. There’s a niggling voice in the back of her head, screaming for her to resist.

But why should she?

It’s so warm and soft. She thinks she’ll stay here.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000


	19. Bombarda - Explosion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, friends. The insanity continues!
> 
> The biggest thanks to Lisa ([moons2stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moons2stars/pseuds/moons2stars)) for her excellent reactions and editing with this chapter!!
> 
> THANK YOU to Cat ([betty_cooper](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bettycooper)) for not only making this stunning header but also for all your help with figuring out which magical creature to use from HP!

_What'd you say? That you only meant well?_  
_Well, of course you did_  
_Mmm, what'd you say? That it's all for the best?_  
_Of course it is_  
_Hmm, what'd you say? That it's just what we need?_  
_You decided this_  
_Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth_  
_Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cutouts_  
_Speak no feeling, no, I don't believe you_  
_You don't care a bit, you don't care a bit_

_“Hide and Seek” by Imogen Heap_  
  
**_Nineteen: Bombarda - Explosion_ **

It’s brisk in London today.

Jughead pulls his black peacoat tighter around his chest as he crosses the street. He’s almost right on time for his meeting slash interview at the Astronomical Society. Uncertain of what to call it, he decides to stick with meeting as that seems to involve less stress. While this job of Research Scientist may be exactly what he’s looking for, it’s not the end of the world if he doesn’t get it.

There will always be more jobs and opportunities.

He repeats this to himself as he pushes against the glass panel in the revolving door. His usually unruly hair is in disarray from the wind. Running a hand through it, he approaches the front desk, greeting the receptionist with a friendly smile.

The young man appears to be in his early 20’s and nearly falls out of his chair when he realizes who’s in front of him. “H-Hello sir. I mean, Lord. I mean, Mr. Jones,” he stutters out.

“Jughead will be just fine,” he replies with a smile. “I have a meeting with Ms. Fancourt.”

The young man bolts up out of his chair and nods hurriedly. “Yes, of course. Just give me one moment, please.” He shuffles away, glancing back at every so often like if he doesn’t keep his eyes on Jughead, he will disappear.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jughead starts to unbutton his jacket. Shrugging it off, he throws it over one arm. When he looks up, he sees a woman dressed in royal blue dress robes wearing large yellow-rimmed circular glasses. They’re so big that they take up almost three-quarters of her face. Her bright purple hair is perfectly coiffed in a proper chignon. Despite the contrasting colors, it looks put together.

“Mr. Jones, it’s a pleasure! I am Aurelia Fancourt,” she greets warmly, extending her hand.

Jughead gives her a firm but short handshake. “Thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet with me. I truly appreciate the accommodation.”

“Not at all! We are so excited that you’re here,” she says as she walks down a long hallway that’s decorated to reflect the night sky. “If you’ll just follow me, I’ve reserved a conference room for us. A few of my colleagues will also be joining me.”

Ah crap, so this is an interview.

Jughead steps through a heavy set of doors and resists the urge to sigh audibly. In front of him is a big, oval-shaped table and seated around it are five people, who he’s assuming must be Ms. Fancourt’s co-workers. He’s glad he decided to wear his best professional outfit today.

Well, they certainly spared no expense for what was supposed to be an informal chat.

Aurelia shuts the door and murmurs a few incantations. A silvery covering suddenly appears in front of the door before it’s absorbed into the wood. Jughead looks at her curiously.

“For privacy,” she explains. “We’ll be undisturbed for the duration of our meeting.”

He forces out a polite smile. “Fantastic. Shall we get started?”

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

After a highly productive meeting, Jughead makes sure that he shakes hands with every single person he met with. As they wrap up, he gets into a lively debate with a few folks about the efficacy of a moon chart versus a star chart. 

“Moon charts are so hard to decipher,” Cygnus Sinistra insists.

“That’s what a Lunascope is for,” Aurelia retorts defensively. Likely because her mother was the genius that invented said instrument.

The two continue to bicker back and forth. Jughead knows he needs to interrupt after it’s gone on for several minutes. He clears his throat uncomfortably. 

“I really should be off,” he says, pointing in the direction of the door.

“Oh yes, of course. My apologies,” Aurelia says before she lifts her hand and waves, dismantling the wards.

As they drop and dissipate, Jughead sees a blue shimmering cat who is pawing at the door, meowing in distress. It perks up happily and bolts in his direction when it is finally able to get through the protective wards. It stops directly in front of him, holding its paw out to get his attention. If he wasn’t so surprised and alarmed, he might’ve thought the gesture was quite endearing.

_“Find Jughead. He’s in London at the Astronomical Society. Tell him that he needs to get back to Hogwarts immediately. I found something big and I need him back here now.”_

Betty’s panicked voice rings out from the cat’s mouth. Then it sits back on its hind legs as it waits for Jughead to process the message.

“I’m going to her now. Thank you,” he says to the cat. 

It twitches its left ear before it flits off. He knows Betty must’ve been worried at his terrible response time so he hopes that his message can provide her a bit of comfort.

“I am so sorry, Ms. Fancourt. It was a pleasure to meet you and your colleagues but I have an emergency to attend to,” Jughead says in a neutral tone, trying his best to contain his urgency.

Aurelia appears to be shocked, her mouth open. She recovers quickly. “Yes, of course. I’ll be in touch soon.”

He nods and thanks her again. Then he hurries out the door as calmly as he can. As soon as he exits the building, a rush of cool air meets his face. He tries his best to rein in his emotions as he ducks into an abandoned alleyway, away from prying eyes. 

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

The Akita emerges from the wand, standing regally before him as it awaits his instructions.

“Find Betty at Hogwarts. Tell her that I’m on my way now.”

It nods once before it disappears and Jughead is left staring at wisps of blue and grey that it leaves in its wake. He knows Betty’s Patronus is already delivering the same message but it doesn’t hurt to be thorough. 

Looking down, he notices a silver line that’s wrapped around the bottom of his wand. It curves around it softly, like it’s cradling it. That wasn’t there this morning. Carefully, he taps the line.

A map of Hogwarts appears in front of him and he sees a silver circle blinking next to what appears to be the first-year boys bathroom near Ravenclaw Tower. The magic appears to be a Trace and he realizes that Betty must’ve cast it to tie her magical signature to his wand. This ensures that he’ll be able to track her wand anywhere it and she goes.

His brilliant, amazing girl.

He lets himself feel a sliver of awe and love for her before he tamps it down, refocusing his attention on the matter at hand. Immense worry and concern starts to infiltrate him, threatening to engulf him. With a flick of his wrist, he looks over the last spells that she cast. 

_Expecto Patronum. Disabling wards. Lumos. Protego._

What? Something is very, very wrong. 

He knows her well. These particular spells cast in this consecutive order must’ve meant that she found something important -- this, he already knows. She sent a message to him that he was unable to answer because he was in that meeting. Then she must’ve gone to pursue the lead, setting a Trace on her wand, disabling the culprit’s wards, used light to guide her way, and then cast a shield.

She would’ve only needed a shield because she was being attacked.

Jughead lets out a string of discontented curses as he apparates to Hogsmeade. He’s never questioned the rules in place at Hogwarts because he’s never had a reason to. As always, he had accepted them at face value because who is he to question the decisions of headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom are better wizards and witches than he is. Now, however, he’s more frustrated than ever at the restrictions in place that prevent him from apparating directly to Hogwarts. 

It’s usually a fifteen minute walk from the castle to the town but he thinks he can make it in about five to six minutes if he runs. And run, he will. He needs to get Betty. Nothing else matters except that.

The uncomfortable tugging sensation in his stomach as his body moves from one place to another rapidly is nothing compared to the unease that hangs over him like a dark, ominous cloak. It squirms and settles into his body until it arrives in the center of his chest, creeping its way to choke his heart.

He knew something was off about today. He never should’ve left Betty alone at Hogwarts. Fuck, he is so stupid. He should’ve trusted his instincts and stayed close. 

As soon as he steps onto the snowy sidewalk in Hogsmeade, he starts to rush towards the castle, holding his right arm out as he commands, _“Accio broom!”_

Jughead knows it’ll be at least a few minutes before he can get a hold of the broom. Sometimes he hates the limitations of magic, especially at times of dire need like this. His long legs move faster than before in a full out run as he desperately tries to get back to Hogwarts. 

He hears it before he sees it.

The broom flies into his open palm, the impact making an audible thump. There’s a brief flash of discomfort but he barely pays attention to it. His grip tightens around the wood and he hops onto the broom, flying as fast as he can back to the castle and his love. The harsh wind whips around his body, slashing his face with bitter force. It stings but he doesn’t care.

His brain is not registering physical pain at this moment. His heart pounds so hard in his chest that he wonders if it will explode from his chest. All his nerves stand on edge, sending electric prickles everywhere. None of that matters.

The only thing that he’s focused on is Betty.

He taps the bottom of his wand again, the map appearing yet again. The silver dot is now moving. It zigzags back and forth in a haphazard motion which only increases his worry. 

Why would she be doing that? Is she hurt?

His mind starts to jump to the worst conclusions. He lets himself feel it for a second before he pushes it down, compartmentalizing as best as he can. He can’t afford to let his fear distract him right now.

But he knows, without a doubt, if someone hurt Betty, he would burn them from the inside out, incinerating their very being until they were nothing but embers and ash.

He’s not usually a violent person. But for her, he would tear apart the seams of the universe if it meant he could protect her.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Jughead bursts through the doors of the castle, muttering a quick spell so that he can shrink his broom. When it’s small enough to fit on the palm of his hand, he tucks it into his pocket. Looking up, he watches as the giant swinging clock chimes above him, reminding him of how late he is. But the question at hand is, is he too late?

God, he can’t be too late.

Pushing away that dismal thought, he sprints towards the nearest stairwell. Betty’s last location was on the 7th Floor left corridor. He rushes through the crowd, bumping into several shoulders but he doesn’t care. No one complains anyway. Part of the advantages of being a Jones is that he gets away with almost anything. Not a single soul would dare to correct a future Duke.

No one except Kevin Keller, apparently.

“Whoa, hey! Watch where-” Kevin’s familiar voice rings in his ears but Jughead only vaguely hears it. “Oh hello there, my new best friend! I have actually been meaning to track you down because I have the best proposition for you-”

Jughead starts to back away apologetically. “Kevin, I really want to get to know you, I promise but something is very, very wrong right now. I think someone might have hurt Betty and I need to find her.”

“What?” Kevin’s entire demeanor immediately changes and he propels himself forward in order to follow Jughead. “What do you mean, someone might have hurt her? What happened-”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out right now,” Jughead interrupts again. “She put a Trace on her wand. I’m going to the location right now.”

“Well, I’m coming with you,” Kevin declares matter-of-factly.

“No, you need to alert the Headmistress and Madame Pomfrey and no one else,” Jughead instructs. “I don’t trust anyone else at Hogwarts right now. The culprit is within the castle walls at this very moment. Can you do that? I’ll send you my location to you when I find her and you can meet us there.”

Something about his urgent tone seems to convince Kevin instantly. He nods without hesitation. “Of course.” He pauses, his expression forlorn. “Please find her. I need her to be okay,” he says quietly, adding as an afterthought, “you stay safe too.”

“Her before me,” Jughead states simply. “Always.”

Then, he turns and heads for the stairwell.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Jughead races up the stairs in record time. As he reaches the last step, his chest expands and contracts rapidly as his lungs struggle to breathe air into them through gasping breaths. Running up seven flights of stairs, no matter how in shape he may be because of Quidditch, is always a struggle.

He steps onto the landing and turns, classrooms coming into view. And there she is. He didn’t expect to find her so quickly and suddenly. Betty stands in front of a stone wall at the end of the hallway. He recognizes it as the entrance to the Room of Requirement.

Her body jolts back and forth as she sways between two opposite directions like she’s being pulled between them by some unseen force. As he slowly approaches her with cautious steps, he sees her expression flit from contented happiness to fear and worry.

Something is very, very wrong. What happened to her?

“Betty,” he calls out when he’s a few feet away from her. He holds his hand out, palms up in a deferential, open stance. “What happened?”

Only when he speaks does her attention finally dart to him. Her whole body begins to tremble and she starts to take a step away from the entrance to the Room of Requirement before she freezes mid-step.

It’s the strangest thing he’s ever seen.

She turns back towards him, her body moving in jilted motions before her lips pull up into a demented, hysterical smile, contorting her beautiful face.

“Jughead,” Betty greets in a soft, bland tone which seems to directly negate the terrifyingly wide smile. She doesn’t appear to be looking at him, more like beyond him at something far away. 

He glances back behind his shoulder but there’s nothing and no one there. It’s just them.

“I have to go.”

Whipping her body around, she starts to walk in another direction like she can’t make up her mind where her final destination is.

“Hey, hey,” he says placatingly, jogging up to her. He reaches out and grasps her forearm gently.

Like his touch burns her, Betty whips her arm away as if scalded. The action is so forceful, the antithesis to the way that she usually is with him. But her expression is so placid and calm.

"I have to go," she reiterates. Without waiting for a response, Betty moves in another direction away from him.

"What's going on with you?” Jughead asks, not letting her get away. “Betty, look at me."

“I have to go,” she repeats, her gaze still off like she’s staring at something in the far off distance. It’s the creepiest, most unsettling thing. And it’s happening to the woman he desperately loves.

Jughead grips her chin firmly but not enough to hurt her. “Betty,” he whispers.

“Let me go. I don’t love you,” she says in a flat, monotonous tone though she’s still smiling.

"What?" he asks, horrified. There’s no pretense here and the word slips from his lips before he has a chance to stop it. Instinctively, he knows she’s not herself right now. But still, he doesn’t expect her to say something that hurtful so callously so it catches him off guard. He tamps down the fear in his heart, knowing that something is wrong here. 

It’s not true. He knows she loves him. She’s said it time and time again and more importantly, beyond simple words, he feels it when he’s around her. The passion and devotion that they feel for one another is undeniable and everlasting.

There’s never been a moment of doubt that she’s his forever.

He studies her, raking his gaze over her face intensely. Her usual green eyes are glossed over, a hazy milky mist covering them, dulling their usual stunning clarity. This, combined with the serene smile that seems permanently pasted, tells him the answer. He knows what happened to her. He doesn’t say it aloud to confront her yet. Instead, he steadies her, holding her shoulders firmly.

“Betty, can you hear me?”

"I have to go," she says in response.

He straightens his back moving slightly so that his whole body blocks her path. Then he stares at the wall behind her, the entrance to the Room of Requirement, repeating softly three times: _I need a place to keep her safe._

A wooden door decorated with black metal ornamentations appears. Without another thought, he drags her into the room. Her body crumples against his touch and he moves her easily. Once they’re inside, he lets her go and shuts the door.

Betty appears to be completely unbothered, the same, still and tranquil expression on her face.

"I have to go," she says to him for what seems like the millionth time. He’s starting to hate that sentence.

"Betty,” he says intently, trying to break through her daze and the curse. “We need to fix this. Someone’s done something terrible to you and I know the Headmistress can help you."

These words seem to lift her from the fog she’s under. She shakes her head furiously and holds her wand up in front of her in a protective stance.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jughead reassures, his heart panging with pain that he needs to say those words aloud. _She’s not herself,_ he reminds himself. 

He inches his wand that he had tucked into his robes out so that he touches the tip of it with his index finger. Then he raises his arm slightly in a way that he hopes she doesn’t notice.

_“Petrificus Totalus!”_

She flicks it away with ease. He’s not even surprised at this. She’s always been an expert dueler.

_“Incarcerous!”_

Again, she flicks it away. Curse after hex, he throws them at her but she blocks them all, calmly. He can’t subdue her. Her skills at defense spells in combat are amazingly adept which he knows is because she practices until she bleeds. This has been heightened in the last few months because of her constant training for the Unspeakable interview. She’s fully prepared, he’s certain. 

But it’s paid off in the worst way possible right now.

Betty glances at him once and cocks her head to the side, the same, sickly sweet smile on her face. Then she lifts her arm and starts to fire off spells at a rapid pace, wordlessly. He barely escapes her barrage of attacks as different colored lights shoot past him at every angle, nearly hitting him.

_“Expelliarmus!”_ he yells, directing his aim at her wand hand.

She waves the attack away effortlessly. Amidst the dust and heavy weight of magic that hangs in the air, Betty stands in an unwavering stance. Jughead takes her in and he can’t help but be stupidly proud of her. She’s not holding back her martial magic, the _Imperio_ harnessing her full potential. And what potential that is.

She is unnervingly, horrifyingly magnificent in her skill and power.

Betty starts to walk towards him, slashing her arm through the air left and right as she continues to hit him with hexes and curses. But he doesn’t move, continuing to stand as an obstacle from her and the exit.

_“Incendio,_ ” she commands. A burst of fire pours from her wand as she centers the magic, pulling it between the open palms of her hands. _“Oppugno.”_

Small balls of fire blast at him. He holds his hands out in front of him, focusing all his thoughts on transforming the fire into water. Splashes of cool liquid rain around him, pitter-pattering against the wall and ground. He’s momentarily distracted as he dries himself off.

Betty stares off at the exit in her sedated state. “I have to go.” Then she lifts up her arm dully, wand in hand and directs it at the door. _“Bombarda.”_

Jughead ducks out of the way just in time, avoiding the blast. Chunks of stone fly into the air. His body skids to the ground, his exposed ankle skinned from the friction. But he doesn’t notice it. He scrambles to his feet, coughing violently from the dust. He waves it away, ducking his face into the crook of his arm so he can breathe properly.

He knows what he has to do to stop her.

His mind is telling him to do one thing. But his heart is telling him another. Never before has he been so conflicted. She’ll block all his normal attack spells because that’s what she’s been training to do for years. He can’t overpower her like that. He knows this with dismal clarity.

But there is one type of spell that she doesn’t excel in; he knows this from personal experience. And in this particular circumstance, this magic won’t hurt her. He’s confident with the research he’s done that it won’t. It can’t. He racks through his mental files, thinking of when he mentioned it to her. 

It was one of the very first times that he felt like he was finally getting somewhere with her. She was starting to notice him and regard him in a positive light.

_“What about if you discuss what might happen if you are Imperio’ed twice?”_

_Her brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean? Like if someone curses you once and then someone else curses you again?”_

_“Exactly.”_

_“That’s a possibility?” Her voice is tinged with intrigue._

_“It’s referenced here as such. It’d be interesting to consider the aftermath. It could either be that the second Imperius would counteract the first, making it null. Or-”_

_“It could also cause irrevocable mental harm since the brain is receiving two different commands,” she interjects excitedly. “Thank you, Jug. This is brilliant.”_

_Irrevocable mental harm._ Those words pound against the roof of his skull, demanding that he rethink this. Is he really willing to take this risk? But right now, it seems like it’s his only hope of stopping her. Her attacks are getting more violent and aggressive. If she somehow disarms him, who knows who else she would hurt in her current state? He can’t let her go. He needs to do this. 

She moves to step towards the exit when his voice rings out.

"Betty, you've been put under the Imperius Curse. You need to resist," he commands, pleading with her.

But nothing happens. The same peaceful smile remains on her face and he hates it with every fiber of his being.

"Polaris, please resist."

A flash of green flickers in her eyes. And in that instant, she’s lucid. It’s the first time that she’s managed to break through the stifling cloud that has her in a chokehold.

Betty looks directly into his eyes. “Do it,” she commands. 

Then, she grabs the side of her head in pain, ripping at her golden hair, as she seems to fall back under. The light in her eyes disappears. He knows she’s no longer in control. She’s there but she can’t get out. She’s trapped. He needs to help her.

Dimly, Betty raises her arm again. This time the composed look on her face is almost menacing and he knows, without a doubt, the next curse she throws at him will be one to maim.

So he does the only thing that he can to bring her back to him.

_"Imperio."_

He watches as it all plays out in slow motion. She immediately raises her wand to protect herself from the spell and manages to hold a shield for one brief awful second before it dissipates. Then the curse hits her directly in the center of her chest where it was aimed.

Betty’s body buckles and she starts to fall. But he catches her. He’ll always catch her.

Jughead holds her tightly to his chest, brushing the hair out of her face. Those brief moments of uncertainty nearly destroy him, picking apart his sanity bit by bit as he stares at her, waiting to see if she wakes up like herself, his Polaris. 

Her eyelids flutter rapidly and when she opens them, green shines back at him, filled with brilliant alacrity and life. He breathes out a sigh of relief but still clutches her so tightly to him, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.

His other hand continues to rub soothing circles into her arms. “It’s okay, Polaris. I’ve got you.”

“Ethel,” Betty murmurs, her voice hoarse. “It’s Ethel.”

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Someone sorting through the rubble to get into the Room of Requirement stirs his senses so he’s on high alert again. He grips his wand so tightly that he thinks it’ll crack at any moment. Betty lies in his lap, her breathing even. He’s not sure if she fainted or if she’s just exhausted but whatever the reasons, he knows she needs the rest.

“Betty? Jughead? Can you hear me?”

The tension eases from his shoulders when he realizes it’s Kevin. “We’re in here!” Jughead calls out.

“Mr. Keller, if you would please move aside for a moment, this would be most appreciated.” The familiar and unyielding tone of the Headmistress’s rings out. 

Relief washes over him. He watches as she clears the rubble away bit by bit until she and Kevin step through the opening. Kevin immediately rushes to Betty’s side, his hands hovering above her face.

“Is she-” Kevin’s entire countenance pales as he finds that he can’t even ask the question.

“She’s asleep,” Jughead answers. He looks up at the Headmistress. “Someone cast a very strong _Imperio_ on her. I think Betty found something in Gabriel or Ethel’s memories that caused her to seek out the culprit that’s been behind all the terrorizing attacks at Hogwarts. They Imperio’ed her but thankfully, Betty had cast a Trace on her wand so I was able to track her down here, in front of the Room of Requirement. She fought me when I tried to detain her normally so I cast a counteracting _Imperio_ . I think I was successful as it seemed to make the original _Imperio_ null but she passed out almost immediately afterwards,” he explains, letting out a heavy sigh. “Betty’s last words before she lost consciousness was ‘It’s Ethel’.”

“Ms. Muggs?” McGonagall questions, her lips a firm, unreadable line. “I understand. Come, Mr. Jones, Mr. Keller, let’s bring Ms. Cooper to the infirmary where she can receive the necessary treatments. I will ask Professor Malfoy to summon Ms. Muggs.”

“When you question her, I want to be there,” Jughead says, calm and in a straight-forward manner. It’s not a request.

The Headmistress stares at him for a hard second before she nods. “Very well. Now, let’s get Ms. Cooper the help she needs. She’s as pale as a hinkypunk.”

Jughead doesn’t argue. Instead, he merely stands, still holding her body close to his chest. When Kevin makes a move to try to help lift her with a levitation spell, Jughead declines. Even having her floating a few inches away from him seems too far. 

He needs her close.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

They’re alone in a private corner in the infirmary.

Madame Pomfrey had very kindly drawn curtains around this area to avoid prying eyes. After all, the Head Girl being attacked would set off flutters of incessant, poisonous gossip. On the way in, he saw Trula’s resting body tucked into a bed. Her face was no longer as white as a sheet so it seems like she’s getting better.

Here, hidden behind curtains and wards, he can be free with his emotions and affections. He knows that the Headmistress and Madame Pomfrey know about his feelings. He hasn’t been able to hide them, not that he ever did that very well. But they didn’t even blink an eye when they took in how closely he cradled Betty’s limp body in his arms. 

Jughead sits next to Betty’s bed, his hand never loosening hers as he watches the rising and falling of her chest, indicating that she’s breathing. He holds onto this physical confirmation that she’s alive. Madame Pomfrey, with her encyclopedic knowledge, knew immediately how to remedy Betty’s condition as soon as she set eyes on her.

“This is a nasty one,” she kept muttering to herself as she administered Betty more potions than he could process.

It didn’t exactly ease his unrest. But whatever Madame Pomfrey gave Betty worked because the color in her face and lips have returned. She looks like she’s simply resting, so peaceful and safe. It helps calm the simmering anger that’s rumbling in his chest.

Why would Ethel do this? She’s only ever been kind, especially deferential and complimentary, around him. He starts to think back on every single interaction that he’s had with her over this last year. She always came and cheered for him during Quidditch games. She was usually there with Trula and never missed a single match or practice, come rain or snow.

She’s one of the ringleaders of his fan club. And that gives him the answer he was looking for. He doesn’t know the minutiae but at the core of it, Ethel must’ve hurt Betty because of him. Because she realized how he felt about Betty.

Fuck, this is all his fault. The guilt starts to eat at him and he grips Betty’s hand tighter. She needs to get better. He needs to prove to her that he can do better and be her protector. He needs to show her that he will never let someone come between them like this ever again. She will never be hurt again like this because of him.

How could he not have seen this and anticipated this? He was so foolish in believing that his fan club was purely innocuous, that they wouldn’t harm someone over their idiotic jealousy. He never paid them much attention because it wasn’t even a consideration that they would go to these extents. 

But he was very, very wrong.

What exactly was Ethel’s game plan? What was she trying to do when she put Betty under the Imperius curse? Was she trying to implicate Betty? He thinks over the victims: Ethel, Gabriel, Trula. All of them have some sort of association with him. So does Betty. Ethel must’ve poisoned herself first to ensure that she appeared to be innocent. After all, who would suspect a victim?

Jughead must’ve intercepted Betty before she could complete the next, and perhaps final, step in Ethel’s plan. That’s why Betty was so desperate to get away from him.

_I have to go._ Betty kept repeating this sentence to him over and over again. 

Where exactly was she headed? Betty was on the 7th Floor near the Room of Requirement. Was she trying to trap herself in there? That makes the most sense because it’s a substantial distance away from the first-year boys bathroom that she was in before. Perhaps she took a convoluted path to her destination, passing by the Room of Requirement on her way. 

That would explain why Betty appeared to be pulled in two different directions when he found her. His smart, brilliant girl. Even under the influence of Ethel, she was still trying to formulate ways to foil Ethel’s plans.

His temper starts to build and he has difficulty reining it in. He feels as if the blood that flows through his veins is heated, his body roaring alive with fury with every swift beat of his heart. Ethel should’ve hurt him if she was frustrated over his affections. Not Betty. She was completely innocent in this and should’ve never been the target.

It should’ve been him.

He’s disrupted from his thoughts when he hears footsteps. Madame Pomfrey slowly approaches them, her expression worried when she sees his murderous expression. 

“She’s healing quite well already. She’s so strong,” she tells him coaxingly.

Jughead nods quietly. He can’t form words right now. He can barely see through his blind rage.

“She might have terrible nightmares after this,” Madame Pomfrey reveals sadly. “When she’s ready to be released, I will send her off with some Sleeping Draught as I’m sure she’ll need it. She’ll get tired more often and she shouldn’t do any heavy magic or strenuous activity for at least three weeks.”

That rouses him to attention. “But she has her Unspeakable interview coming up at the end of the month.”

“I would strongly advise that the interview be rescheduled because she will not be up for it. The after effects of dark magic are severe. She was put under a very strong _Imperio_ that lasted for a prolonged duration. It will affect her, hopefully not permanently but definitely in the short term. What she needs to do most is to let her body rest so it can properly recuperate and heal. She shouldn’t push herself; that would be detrimental to her overall health and will also slow down the healing process,” Madame Pomfrey explains grimly.

He can’t very well argue with her knowing that she’s right. After all, Madame Pomfrey is the expert. However, he’s already not looking forward to trying to get Betty to take things easy. That will be the biggest challenge for her.

Even if the Headmistress isn’t able to push back the interview, he knows he’ll be able to. It’s one of the few benefits of being related to the head of the department. 

Madame Pomfrey gives him a few tips. She gathers a few healing potions for Betty. One look at them and he’s relieved that they’re mostly quick and easy to brew in case Betty needs more. 

“Mr. Jones,” Headmistress McGonagall calls from the doorway. “Ms. Muggs has been arraigned. She and Professor Malfoy are waiting in my office. Would you like to join us?”

Jughead stands up so fast from his seat that the chair wobbles behind him from the impact. He thanks Madame Pomfrey before he follows McGonagall out the door. 

All the while, the magic crackles around his fingertips, his anger and frustration surfacing, almost as if it’s about to boil over.

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End file.
